


Expansion Pack

by The_Apocryphal_One



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Backstory, Character Development, Existential Crisis, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Nightmares, One Shot Collection, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-14 01:03:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 48,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12996456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Apocryphal_One/pseuds/The_Apocryphal_One
Summary: The main quest was beaten, but that didn't mean the story had to end yet, right? The past, the future, there was surely more to see. A compilation of one-shots in the universe of Extra Life.Latest chapter: Above all else, Akane did not want to remember.





	1. Game Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And here we are, the first of the one-shots in Extra Life’s universe! Technically, you don’t actually need to have read Extra Life to read this first one—it’s a prequel, so none of the events in Extra Life have actually happened yet, but it does draw off Chiaki’s backstory from there.
> 
> Disclaimer: Dangan Ronpa still doesn't belong to me.

“No doubt about it…you’re definitely the girl in all those rumors.”

Chiaki distantly heard the words, but she didn’t pull herself away from _Hang-On._ Her world had narrowed to a single point, the handlebars under her fingers and the road before her. Everything else was unimportant. Even the score in the corner, steadily ticking up, didn’t matter.

She didn’t care how well she did, or if she won, or even if she lost. All she cared was that she not be interrupted from the rush and fun of gaming.

Finally, when she zoomed across the finish line, she glanced up. She blinked in surprise; there was a middle-aged man leaning against the machine _,_ watching her. Had he been the one to talk to her? How long ago had he spoken up? Most people didn’t hang around when she didn’t respond…

What had he said again? “The girl in the rumors?” she repeated.

“There’s talk about a girl who leaves her name at the top of every high score of every game in Akihabara. I got curious, so I came to see for myself.” He cracked a smile. “Though I will say, it definitely wasn’t easy to find you! You visit a _lot_ of arcades; couldn’t you have picked just one to hang out at?”

Chiaki shook her head fiercely, life sparking in her at her favorite topic. “That’s impossible! Places like Taito Game Station or Club Sega are company-owned, so they won’t put games from the competition in! Even the ones that are privately-owned have a lot of variety! There’s one by this maid café that has some rare crane games, and another that has the only machine of _Sundance_ I’ve ever seen…one that only has retro games and one that only has modern ones…even one with some imported from other countries! I can’t just pick one arcade out of them all!”

Only when her excited chattering had come to an end did Chiaki notice him smiling in an indulgent way. Self-consciousness warmed her cheeks. She ducked her head. _I did it again…I got all weird again…_

To her surprise, though, the man didn’t say anything disparaging. “Sounds like you’ve got a real passion for video games, huh?”

She glanced up to see that his smile had turned gentle. Encouraged, she nodded. “Yeah…there’s just so much to love about them! The mechanics, music, art, story…they weave together to create something incredible. And there’s always something different or fresh across games—even ones in the same franchise—so playing one always brings a unique experience. Isn’t that amazing? Thousands made, and none of them are exactly the same!”

“It’s definitely something, yeah.” He tipped his hat at her. “Name’s Kizakura Koichi, by the way. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nanami-chan.”

She blinked. “How do you know my name?”

“Didn’t I say so earlier? I heard rumors about you and wanted to see how true they were. I’ve been watching you for a while—not in a creepy way, I promise!”

He opened his wallet and flashed a license at her. “I’m a scout, you see. You know how sports teams send guys to scout new players? I’m like that, except for a certain school. Hope’s Peak Academy.”

Time stopped. It must have, because Chiaki knew she was still breathing, but the world around her seemed to have frozen in place. The lights of the machines, the sounds of the games, they all just…stopped. _Hope’s Peak Academy…?_

Even she, who didn’t have any interest in anything but games, knew about Hope’s Peak Academy. Those who graduated from it were said to have complete success in life, and many of its alumni were indeed influential. It was prestigious. It was towering. It was a birthplace of hope. It was where the best of the best, the cream of the crop, the absolute talented went.

It was…for special people.

“Hope’s Peak—b-but, why would a place like that be interested in me? I’m not…”

“Anything special?” Putting away his wallet, Kizakura-san smiled wryly and pointed at the arcade screen. “That, and the many others like it, says otherwise.”

She glanced at the score. It was record-breaking, yes, but was that really worthy of attention? Even if it was…was there really anything that could come of it? A talent at gaming wasn’t the type of thing that could be called a beacon of hope.

The sound of a zipper drew her attention. Kizakura-san was opening a duffle bag she only just now realized was with him. He angled it towards her, showing her the consoles—Game Girls, PSPs, even a pair of Wonderswans—inside. “Tell me, Nanami-chan…how good are you on these? Or do you only play arcade games?”

Her eyes had already started to light up, the dark cloud over her head dissipating. She wasn’t good at social stuff, but she was starting to see the direction this might be going. “I own every single one of those consoles! Multiple copies, even! I play them so much I sometimes forget to eat!”

“You should probably do something about that.” Reaching into the bag, he pulled out a Game Girl, seemingly at random, and waved it with a smile. “Watching and hearsay only reveal so much, so how about we go a few rounds and I see exactly what you’re made of?”

* * *

“Well,” he said when they were done. “Shame on me for doubting.”

She just smiled down at the screen, taking heart from the fact he wasn’t getting mad or throwing a huff at losing. Multiple times, at that. They’d left the arcade to not disturb the other customers, heading over to a café to play. He’d brought a wide variety of games with him; some were versus, some were co-op. All were challenging. It was clear as day that they’d all been hand-picked to test her.

Whether she passed or not…well, she didn’t really care. She didn’t expect to pass, honestly. But she’d had a good time, and that was what mattered.

Kizakura-san pulled a flask out of his coat, taking a swig. “You could really go professional with this, you know. But I rarely see your name in tournaments, even though you always won the few you did attend. Any reason why?”

Her smile faded. Chiaki tugged her hood up, huddling in the safety of its shadows. “…At tournaments, a lot of my opponents are guys, and they don’t like losing to a girl. …It’s just more fun for everyone if I don’t go.”

_Winning, losing…those shouldn’t matter. Having fun is what matters. But…people who like games don’t want to play with me…and people who don’t like games think I’m weird._

_I can’t make friends with games, and I can’t make friends without them…_

_It’s just…impossible for someone like me to make friends…_

“Hmmm,” was all he said, screwing the top back onto his flask. Kizakura-san returned it to his jacket and leaned forward, bracing his elbows against the table. “Well, I’m just about done, Nanami-chan, so why don’t I tell you how the rest of this process works? I’m gonna head back and give my report to the Headmaster. He and I will have a discussion about whether you’re in or not. If you are, we’ll contact you in two weeks and you’ll send your reply. If not…well, we just won’t.”

She nodded distractedly. Rising from his seat opposite, Kizakura-san tipped his hat at her again. “Try not to sweat too much about it, Nanami-chan. Have a safe trip home.”

* * *

Chiaki forgot all about her encounter with Kizakura-san. She simply didn’t expect anything to come of it. There wasn’t any way gaming could be a talent. She loved gaming to death, but even she knew that it wasn’t as important or useful to society as talents like financing or medicine. Those were the sorts of things Hope’s Peak would really be interested in, whatever Kizakura-san said.

No, she really wouldn’t get in at all. So she forgot all about that, and did not remember until two weeks had passed.

“I’m home,” she called softly to the empty house. No one was ever there to greet her after school, but it was still something she did to make it feel a little less lonely.

Kicking off her shoes, she made her way through the hall, eyes glued to her Game Girl Advance. Without looking away, she went to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and withdrew the first snack she touched. It felt like dango? Chiaki bit into it experimentally. Yeah, it was dango. She hummed appreciatively, taking another bite as she headed for her room. Her door closed behind her, and everything except the console in her hands ceased to matter.

Hours later, she heard her name called. Chiaki raised her head, blinking blearily. The clock read 9:35 _._ Her stomach grumbled. _Oh…I forgot to make dinner again…_

“Chiaki!”

 _Did she have the night shift today? Guess not._ She’d stopped paying attention to her mother’s work schedule a while ago. “Coming!” she called, pausing her game and slipping it into her pocket.

She and her parents didn’t exactly have a great relationship. Or a relationship at all, really. Father was a project manager in a big company, so he travelled a lot and for long periods of time. Mother was trying to be a married working woman, which wasn’t really a thing in Japan…so she faced a lot of stigma for it. Her job wasn’t as lucrative nor as travel-intensive as Father’s—she was just a nurse—but she often took extra hours to prove herself, to say nothing of the sometimes-crazy shifts.

So, because they were so job-oriented, her parents weren’t really around. Mother had looked after Chiaki when she was a baby, of course, but went back to work when she entered pre-school. A babysitting service was used instead, until they decided she was old enough to take care of herself. They could certainly afford it: Father was really well-paid. So much so that he and Mother had made their dream house in Den-en-chōfu a reality by the time Chiaki was born.

And that was her life: growing up in a nice house in a wealthy, pretty neighborhood, with parents who bought her games whenever she wanted as compensation for their absences. When she was little, she used to cry about it. She used to resent them. She used to seek their attention. Now she just…

She just didn’t care. And Chiaki felt bad about that, she really did. But…how was she supposed to care if she didn’t even know them? If they orbited independently, rarely crossing paths? Honestly, she got the impression they genuinely believed that wealth and knowledge of a secure future were all she needed to be happy. She wasn’t going to just wait for them to change their minds on that. She could have, if she’d loved them.

But they’d have to actually be part of her life for that, and they weren’t, and she didn’t.

Mother was waiting in the kitchen, smiling lightly. Her sandy brown hair—which had diluted Father’s bright pink—was pulled back into a tight bun, drawing her face into sharp focus. A teapot was brewing, and she had draped her jacket over a chair. So maybe she _was_ done for the evening? Chiaki looked around, but there wasn’t a bag that indicated she’d gone to an electronics store. Her eyebrows rose.

“You wanted something, Mother?” She couldn’t imagine what.

Mother’s smile didn’t shrink, exactly, but it did become sterner. “Well, there was mail for you on the doorstep, and you didn’t pick it up. You should be more diligent about that.”

“Sorry, Mother.”

“Especially when…” She held out an envelope, the warmth returning to her face. “It’s as important as this.”

Surprised, Chiaki took the envelope. It was made of nice, thick stock, the good kind, and there was a seal on the front. A shield emblazoned with a wand and what looked like a bolt of lightning, with wings and a crown.

“Do you recognize that crest, Chiaki?”

She did. _Hope’s Peak Academy’s crest._ A glance at the return address confirmed the source. Her mouth went dry. She cracked the seal. Inside was a letter, printed on fine, glossy paper, the same insignia in a corner. Her eyes scanned the contents, confusion giving way to incredulity.

_Amazing talent? Ultimate Gamer? But it’s not…it’s nothing special…_

She glanced up to see her mother’s expectant face, grin trembling with anticipation. “It says…they want me to attend next year…”

Mother squealed, pressing her hands together. “I knew it! Hope’s Peak Academy! The most prestigious high school in the country, no, the _world_! Oh, this is wonderful!”

Chiaki blinked as Mother hugged her— _hugged_ her. She honestly couldn’t remember the last time either of her parents had hugged her. All she could think to say was, “I never applied, though…”

“They don’t take applications! They _find_ people they think are worthy! And you’re one of them! What time is it in—oh, who cares, I have to call your father right away!”

Suddenly, Chiaki remembered Kizakura-san, what he’d said about Hope’s Peak being interested in her. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed in the chair behind her. In the background, she could hear Mother walking away to call Father, her daughter forgotten now that confirmation had been received. It was a familiar thing in a surreal world. Because—this was surreal. Being accepted into Hope’s Peak Academy? It was way too surreal.

But…it was really happening, wasn’t it? She could feel the letter in her hands. Chiaki looked back down at it, hesitance warring with an emotion she couldn’t describe. It felt a bit like…hope.

_I still don’t think what they call my ‘talent’ is really a talent, but…it’s not like I have anything to lose by attending, right?_

_Yeah. Maybe I should just give it a try._

Tentatively, she smiled.

_Hope’s Peak Academy…_

_I wonder what’s in store for me there?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I honestly have no idea when this will update, or how long it's gonna be. I've got a couple more one-shots in mind and partially written, but there isn't a schedule I'm following like with Extra Life. It's probably going to be an "update when it's done" thing. But hey, they're one-shots, so no worries about cliffhangers, right?


	2. Sandbox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yaaaaaaay, I made it to a second chapter even without a schedule!
> 
> This starts a little after Chapter 26 of Extra Life and goes through and past the epilogue, so you should finish that if you haven't and don't want to be spoiled.

“A broken sword,” Peko’s kendo instructor used to drill into her, “is worse than useless. If you ever falter, if you ever weaken, you will not be able to protect the young master. To be a broken sword is to be discarded, and to be discarded is worse than death. At least dying in duty fulfills your purpose.”

That, in truth, was what Peko had feared more than anything. To not serve her young master. To be cast out as a failure. She would devote herself day and night to her purpose, sharpening herself until she was as deadly as the sword in her hands. She _was_ the sword in her hands.

But a sword was only useful as long as there was danger, as long as there was a war. A sword in peacetime…

A sword in peacetime was not broken, but it was useless all the same.

* * *

It was only when the celebrations and joy of Nanami’s return had settled down that Peko first grew…restless. On the one hand, Jabberwock Island was peaceful, and a peaceful island was a safe island, not just for her young mas—Fuyuhiko, but for her other classmates. She had not gone to Hope’s Peak intending to socialize, but she’d grown to appreciate their company nonetheless. And that appreciation had gradually grown into friendship.

Still, even when she’d first been slowly warming to the idea of being _more_ than a tool, she’d never _lost_ that tool mindset, not really. She could have indulgences in her life, but her purpose was the same. A constant. A safety net she could fall back on whenever she became shaken about treading new ground—she existed to protect Fuyuhiko. She existed to kill for Fuyuihiko. She existed _for Fuyuhiko,_ and she always would exist for him.

But now…there was no danger to protect him from. There were no enemies for her to kill. And he’d said he didn’t want her as a tool anymore. _“I only wanted you.”_ Those words had resonated with her, striking up something deep and yearning in her heart, and it was such a beautiful, taboo thought… But she didn’t have the faintest idea _how_ to not be his tool. Without that underlying purpose to reassure her…she felt directionless. Lost.

Peko’s schedule was hardly busy. She did her chores for the day, then trained til the sun went down, honing skills she no longer needed to keep sharp. Or else she patrolled the islands, constantly watching the horizon for anything that might be a threat. Time on her own was time she did not know how to spend. The closest thing to a hobby she had was petting Yumigami (who Peko could not believe didn’t need Tanaka to be calm around her; either that rabbit was unnaturally mellow, or living with Kamukura had desensitized her to scariness), but she could hardly monopolize her—she was everyone’s rabbit.

She did spend time with her classmates, but only when prompted into group activities, and Fuyuhiko, but that was…difficult. They were trying to figure out where their relationship stood without the barrier of master-servant. She knew she loved him, and he knew she loved him, and she knew he loved her, but _how_ did they love each other? Romantically? She thought so, but she wasn’t sure. It was a slow, tentative exploration, and it left her more frustrated than not.

Her work didn’t bring her fulfillment, either. It would have been different if she’d been like Tsumiki or Soda or Hanamura, whose talents gave them specific jobs, but there was little for an Ultimate Swordswoman to do. Cleaning, keeping inventory, helping the others, things like that were all well and good, but anyone could have done them.

Every so often, someone from Branch 14—one of the few entrusted with their secret—would call and ask to speak with her and Fuyuhiko. Unlike some of the others, they did not have talents that could be used to produce material goods or research data to help the world; instead, they redeemed themselves through information, giving details on underworld associates, illegal business locations, gang hideouts.

It was not an easy task, in all honesty. Peko had been loyal to the Kuzuryu clan all her life, and the thought of betraying them left her shaken. And despite his dislike of what his parents had done to her, Fuyuhiko hadn’t hated his family. He’d wanted to be strong enough to lead them.

But when he had been, it was in the worst way possible. Their despair and fanaticism had made them unstoppable. They’d killed the other members of his family, seized control of the clan, and drove it into despair too.

They had no future with the yakuza, and they could not leave it in the hands of their despair-filled lieutenants and gangsters. At the very least, they had to see that level of depraved evil driven out.

Still—could she call that a purpose? It would end eventually, when despair was finally eradicated, and then she’d be right back to square one.

…No, she couldn’t. Purpose still evaded her. And for a woman who’d had purpose defined for her before she could crawl, lack of it was the scariest thing of all.

* * *

 Only after four months of fruitless wrestling did she finally confide this sense of aimlessness to Nanami. Peko knew Nanami wanted to help, but for a woman who’d been taught to feel nothing her entire life, it wasn’t so simple as to just open up, even to one of her classmates. It had taken her weeks to just talk about her feelings from her forced Ultimate Despair.

When Peko finished relaying her uncertainty, Nanami hummed and leaned back in her chair. She stared at the ceiling, slowly filing her cheeks with air and letting it out in a long exhale. Half of the hotel’s lodge had been converted for therapy shortly after the gamer’s arrival. The largest room was for group therapy, the office for individual therapy. It had two comfy chairs, a couch, a desk, and _of course_ various video games.

The video games were reassuring, oddly enough. They showed that some things never changed. Because Nanami had changed. Her eyes held more haunt in them, a world-weariness that hadn’t existed before the Tragedy. She rarely had a kind word to say about herself, humility twisted into self-deprecation. And she was clingier, too, in an almost desperate and fearful way. As if she were constantly afraid of losing them.

But she was still the same kind Nanami underneath, and seeing the games scattered around her office reinforced that fact.

When she’d finished considering Peko’s words, Nanami looked back at her and smiled. “Do you remember that time we went shopping for a class picnic?”

She blinked, because she did, but she wasn’t sure how that was significant to this conversation. Still, she confirmed, “Yes, I do.”

Fuyuhiko had ordered her to leave him alone again, and she’d felt so despondent she hadn’t protested when Nanami asked her to help run some class rep errands. But when they got to the supermarket and Nanami off-handedly told her to pick whatever she wanted for herself, she’d frozen, looking at the rows of snacks. There were so many choices, and it had paralyzed her.

“Remember what I said then?”

That, too, she recalled perfectly. “Take your time choosing…and don’t be afraid to work with everyone to make new discoveries.”

…Ah. Now she understood why Nanami had brought up that memory. And sure enough, the pink-haired woman was nodding. “I think that still applies here, Pekoyama-san. The more you learn about yourself, the clearer your sense of purpose will become. I’m sure of it.”

“But,” she began, and faltered. “…Isn’t it too much trouble?” She barely stopped herself from adding, _for a tool like me?_ One of the earliest assignments in therapy had been to reduce how often she called herself or thought of herself as a tool; it was difficult, but she was trying.

Nanami’s eyes widened, and she shook her head empathically. “Personal quests don’t need to be rushed or completed alone! That’s what all this for, so we can all help each other. You’re no different.”

Little wings of happiness fluttered in Peko’s stomach. This, too, was also familiar. Peko had mostly stuck to the fringes in Hope’s Peak, and she hadn’t interacted with her classmates much when they weren’t in a group…but Nanami, somehow, always made sure everyone was included in group activities. That was why they’d all respected her. Even now, that hadn’t changed.

“Very well. How do we start?”

 A reminiscent expression crossed Nanami’s face. “Well, you aren’t the first patient I’ve had who felt lost…so why don’t we start by bouncing around ideas? Let me get some paper and we can brainstorm a list of things you wish you could learn or do.”

* * *

“Hold on a moment.” Koizumi held up a hand, looking flustered. “You want me to what?”

“Teach me photography.” Peko bowed at the waist, spine straight and hands clasped; a servant’s perfect posture, which she privately thought she’d never lose. “I’ve always had the utmost respect for your photographs. You capture moments with perfect clarity, conveying emotion that anyone can see in a single look, and you dedicate yourself to photography with passion.”

Koizumi glowed from the praise. “Well—thanks. But, and I mean no offense, but why? You’ve never seemed interested before.”

 “…I just…wanted to try, I suppose.” It sounded awkward and pathetic to her ears, and Peko stared down at Koizumi’s cottage floor. Things had been awkward with Koizumi, for a while, what with the murder and everything…but they’d moved past it. She’d hoped it was enough for her to ask this favor…but apparently not.

“Hey—look, you don’t need some huge reason to learn photography. And anyone who says otherwise is full of bull. If you want to do it just because, that’s totally fine! I was just surprised.”

Relief flowed through Peko. “So you’re willing to teach me?”

The redhead smiled. “Sure. You’ll have to give me a couple days to come up with a lesson plan and find you a camera, but I’d be happy to.”

And that began the photography lessons. Koizumi dug up a digital camera, similar to hers, from the supermarket, and spent the first lesson introducing Peko to it. They took some practice photos around Koizumi’s cabin, to show off the different functions, and then they headed to Tanaka’s ranch for Peko’s first shoot. It was doing well, the cows and chickens and sheep all flourishing. They ordinarily gave Peko baleful looks if she was nearby, and outright shied or panicked if she stepped too close, but between the camera’s distance and Tanaka’s presence, they stayed calm and obedient.

But when they developed the pictures, Peko frowned down at them furtively. She’d known her photos would be nothing like Koizumi’s in quality, but she’d hoped for better than _this_. This one was blurry, that one was too dark, this one was off-center…

“Apologies, Koizumi,” she sighed. “Your instruction was wasted on me, it seems.”

But Koizumi shook her head. “Don’t belittle your photos! Even if they aren’t technically perfect, they still mean something to you, don’t they? They captured something only you saw, at only that moment. That makes them worth it.”

Peko looked back at them, trying to force herself to see past the technical faults. It was…difficult. She had never been taught to admire the artistry in anything, not even kendo; she was only instructed, pushed to perfection, over and over. Mistakes were to be learned from and eliminated, not admired.

She still couldn’t see the beauty in the errors, not the way Koizumi apparently could. But—there was something. A softness that hadn’t been there before the photographer’s words, a certain lessening of the spots. The mistakes weren’t quite as glaring as she’d thought, looking at the whole. Perhaps she couldn’t see the beauty in her photos, but…maybe someday she could?

So instead of throwing them away, she accepted them, thanked Koizumi for her time, and even arranged a second shooting.

* * *

For the next several weeks, Peko continued to experiment, checking things off the list she’d made with Nanami. She took her time eating Hanamura’s food, savoring the tastes and trying to discern which ones she liked the most. She continued to visit Tanaka’s ranch, petting the animals carefully as he kept them calm. She watched anime with Mitarai. She let Owari and Nidai drag her to sparring sessions, and sometimes (at Owari’s insistence) all three of them sparred Hinata. Gradually, she began to shape an idea of ‘herself’, of Pekoyama Peko the woman, not Pekoyama Peko the tool.

She found that yellow gummies filled her with a sense of guilt; that she didn’t enjoy anime involving swordsmen, samurai or the yakuza because the portrayals were often inaccurate; that nature was peaceful and calming; and that nature documentaries captivated her—especially ones with baby animals. Especially _fluffy_ baby animals. They were just _so tiny_ and _fuzzy_ and _adorable…_

And the more discoveries she made, the more her schedule changed. She still woke up early to train, but instead of continuing that after breakfast, she would accompany Koizumi on photography trips. Spar with Owari, Nidai, and sometimes Hinata. Visit Tanaka at the ranch so he could help the animals acclimate to her presence. Play video games with Nanami or with a group. Went on tentative ‘dates’ with Fuyuhiko that weren’t really romantic, but weren’t really platonic either, just another extension of trying to figure things out.

Salvation from the menial chores came in the shape of their first huge storm—no one was hurt or killed, not even the animals, but the gale that swept over Jabberwock damaged many buildings. Perhaps Nanami said something to him, or perhaps he’d just noticed it for himself, but when they emerged in the aftermath, Hinata approached her and asked if she’d be willing to help with reconstruction.

“Because,” he said dryly, when Peko asked why her specifically, “you’re one of the most physically fit and the most disciplined. If I ask Owari, she’ll use it to train and get distracted, and if I ask Nidai, Owari will look for him to train and they’ll get distracted anyway.”

She had to admit he had a point—that _was_ why he usually stuck them on fishing duty. Even they wouldn't try to fight in the middle of the ocean, and since it involved catching food, Owari would actually pay attention.

And so, for lack of anything else to do, Peko agreed. Under Hinata’s teaching and careful instruction, she renovated buildings, tore down unneeded ones, and laid groundwork for new ones. Food in the supermarket would be the first thing to run out, and though they still had Kamukura’s stockpile for now, self-sufficiency was something they needed. There were animals on the ranch and fish in the sea, so that just left agriculture. They’d set up plots of farmland, but a greenhouse had been suggested, and Peko found herself reading up about it just to see if it could be done.

This was…something, she thought, as she worked. It felt—like more. Building, creating, was a strange sensation compared to killing and fighting, but not entirely an unpleasant one.

* * *

The epiphany struck her, out of the blue, during one of her evening walks along the beach with Fuyuhiko.

She was…content. She had—a job, a productive one. Friends. Hobbies. Someone she loved.

When she thought of what she could do as Pekoyama Peko the tool, all she could think of was nothing. A tool wasn’t needed here. A tool wasn’t wanted here.

When she thought of what she could do as Pekoyama Peko, the Ultimate Swordswoman, all she could think of was leaving Jabberwock to become something like the Sparkling Justice she’d once pretended to be. A masked vigilante, alone and living on the run, hunting criminals. It didn’t sound like an appealing life at all.

But when she thought of what she could do as Pekoyama Peko, the woman, she had no shortage. There was a fence around the ranch that had to be fixed. Teaching the physically weaker of them, like Saionji and Mitarai, how to fight. Offering advice to Tsumiki about treating injuries, being one of the scarce voices of calm during the rowdy class gatherings. Photography with Koizumi and animal documentaries with Tanaka, sparring with Owari and Nidai and video games with Nanami.  It wasn’t anything grand, but—

Maybe it didn’t have to be.

Maybe…she’d been thinking of it wrong, all along. Maybe she’d been thinking about what she could do as an extension of her talent, like the Kuzuryu and Hope’s Peak had wanted, and not about what she could do as herself. Maybe, for herself…

“Hey,” Fuyuhiko said, squeezing her hand, “You doin’ okay?”

She blinked at him. It had taken them the better part of a year to finally move their relationship to ‘couple’—mostly because Fuyuhiko hadn’t wanted to force her into anything. He’d asked her at least four times if she was _sure_ she wanted this when she finally asked him to be her boyfriend. He’d been letting her set the pace, too, but even now, it _still_ felt strange to walk at his side, instead of several steps behind him. She wondered if it always would.

“I’m fine,” she said, and then, because she was no longer the same Peko who would insist on leaving it at that, “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve been calling your name for a while and you haven’t responded.”

“Ah.” Yes, that would be a sign something was wrong, given how she normally stayed tuned in to her surroundings. He waited for her to elaborate, his good eye fixed on her face, and she smiled lightly. “I was just thinking.”

He snorted. “Must have been some pretty deep crap for you to zone that completely.” Then his eye widened. “Is it something bad? Was Hanamura badgering you with those fucking insinuations about your—u-um, your underwear again? If he did I’ll—”

She laughed. It was soft, and short, but it was a laugh. This, smiling, these things were both becoming more natural. She’d rarely done them as ‘the young master’s tool’. The sound of it stopped Fuyuhiko short, left him blinking with the kind of dumbfounded admiration that always warmed her heart. “No, that’s not it. I was just thinking…this isn’t what I expected out of my life, but…I think I’m happy.”

He didn’t answer a moment, seemingly studying her face for falsity. Then he smiled, with no trace of the cocksure arrogance. “Good. ‘Cause—you fucking deserve it.”

“So do you,” she reminded him, and his ears burned red.

Peko’s smile didn’t fade as they resumed their walk. She absorbed it all, the crashing waves against the sand, the scent of salt, the light breeze, the warmth of Fuyuhiko’s palm in hers.

Maybe she didn’t need a grand purpose. Maybe just living for the sake of it could be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Out of everyone in Class 77, Peko's the one I wonder about the most when it comes to living on Jabberwock. How would she take it, going from a tool to an exile? Having her entire worldview upended like that has to be hard on her. And thus, this was born.
> 
> Peko’s story about shopping with Chiaki comes from one of the DR3 manga! Also I really like the idea of a Peko and Mahiru friendship after their event in UTDP.


	3. GG

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In celebration of Valentine’s Day, have this short little piece of domestic fluff! It’s not Valentine’s Day themed, because I’m lame and I liked this idea more, but it’s hopefully cute :)
> 
> Takes place, eh, a couple of months after the epilogue.

It used to be rather cramped, living with Hajime in a one-room cottage; his interior decorating skills were such that they’d been able to fit in all the necessary furniture, but Chiaki’s many consoles and video games had taken up almost all the floor space. Until recently, when Pekoyama-san had helped him finish adding a second floor…which pretty much existed for video games and storage.

Chiaki almost felt inanely guilty, that they had to add more rooms because of her. But she loved her video game room. It had a giant TV screen, cushy beanbag chairs, a small fridge stocked with cold drinks and snacks, posters of her favorite games…it had been customized exactly to her specifications. She’d told Hajime he could customize it, too, and he’d added several paintings of boats and shelves to store the occasional odd trinket that caught his eye.

It felt homey. Perfect. A place for them both. Chiaki loved the game room, and if possible, she loved Hajime even more for giving it to her.

It was one of these cushy chairs that Chiaki and Hajime shared now, pressed hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder. Their eyes were fixed on the TV, fingers mashing furiously at the buttons of their controllers. Loud sounds emerged from the console as the characters exchanged fierce blows.

Chiaki didn’t regret coming to Jabberwock Island at all, but…she couldn’t deny there were certain things from the mainland that she missed. Arcades, for one—Jabberwock Island had many features, but arcades were not one of them. Oh, the amusement park had a small building with claw machines and the like, and she enjoyed it, but…it was just so lacking, compared to when she had an entire district to choose from.

In light of this, she had grown even more appreciative of the arcade collections and compilations she owned, ported to various consoles. It still wasn’t the same as being in an arcade, but at least she could actually play the games again. For instance, she had everything in the _Taito Memories_ series; a hundred beautiful titles altogether, including the game they were currently playing, _Great Swordsman._ He’d already won two rounds, but there were fifteen total and she was hopeful to snag at least one victory. She leaned forward, cheeks warm and eyes glowing with the thrill of gaming as her pixelated fighter darted back and forth, trading blows with Hajime’s.

This round was kendo; the goal, reaching five points before the timer ended. Their points were tied, four to four, the timer on the screen ticking down to its final seconds as their figures continued to dance around each other, evenly matched. Though Hajime had a large advantage over her in terms of skillset and analytical ability, Chiaki had been playing with him on and off since high school. She’d spent years working hard to improve since meeting Izuru. She’d grown familiar with how he gamed, and hard work meant she was keeping up with him better than ever. Spotting a brief lull in his offenses, her figure lunged.

Even as she went for the kill, she braced herself for the dodge and counter. That was always what happened when she was on the cusp of victory. But it never came. Maybe he misclicked, or maybe he reacted milliseconds too slow. Either way, the sword tapped his fighter’s chest, dinging her a single point above him just before the buzzer sounded.

For a moment they both blinked in surprise. The declaration of victory passed on the screen without a word from either; it was only when the next round started up that their stupor broke. Hajime paused the game.

“I won…?” Chiaki asked, slowly, as if saying the words would undo her apparent success.

“You won,” Hajime said. His eyes had widened the tiniest bit, the only visual indication of how surprised he was.

_Surprised…_

A giddy feeling built up in Chiaki’s chest, rising and swelling like the crest of a wave. She giggled, pressing a hand over her mouth. Her delighted lips curled up.

_I won! And I surprised him!_

“I won!” she cheered, throwing her arms around Hajime. “Congratulations!”

His arms automatically wound around her waist. From the tilt of one eyebrow and slight twist of his mouth, she could tell he was a little perplexed, but his eyes were warm regardless. “You’re congratulating me? Shouldn’t that be the other way around?”

Chiaki shook her head. “I mean, I am happy for myself…but happier for you. You’ve lost! Your win rate isn’t a hundred percent anymore! Your victory isn’t a certainty.” She tilted her face up, beaming. “It’s something you can’t completely predict.”

He chuffed softly, returning her smile with his own small one. “You mean to tell me your natural competitiveness _wasn’t_ why you were trying so hard all this time?”

She puffed her cheeks out teasingly. “Well…okay, that was part of it.” She wasn’t a sore loser by any means, but you couldn’t lose to someone over and over and over and _not_ feel a driving urge to defeat them. “But mostly I wanted to make things more fun for you.”

“You don’t have to do that. I don’t want you to not enjoy our gaming sessions because you’re fixated on winning.”

“I know, but I wanted to. And I always enjoy time with you, no matter what the outcome is.”

She was never going to get tired of that smile, nor the sensation of his mouth on hers. It was a brief kiss, chaste, but it still made happy butterflies flutter in her stomach. “Thank you,” was all Hajime murmured when he pulled away. “And I feel the same.”

 Fierce pride danced in her stomach as she twisted in his lap, settling in. Chiaki picked up her abandoned controller, fire in her eyes. “Alright! Next round! You’re going down again, I’m on a streak now!”

“One win is hardly a streak,” Hajime teased, unpausing the game. “Let’s see you win eight out of fifteen before you claim that.”

“Bring it on!”

(She lost the rest of the rounds.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: hey look I finally got the boats meme in.
> 
> If you’re familiar with Nidhogg, Great Swordsman is basically the game it was based off, to give y’all a visual and gameplay reference.
> 
> I like to think that eventually, once in a while, Izuru/Hajizuru could be bested competitively. Call it the power of hope, or love, or even sheer cheesiness.


	4. Resolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I figure this takes place, eh, a couple of months after the end of Extra Life.

Hinata was a good friend.                                       

Okay yeah, so he was a bit cutting, and the inhuman stillness was kinda creepy, and Kazuichi’d had his moments of doubting him in the simulation (he still felt bad about that, even if his suspicions had, in the end, been kind of justified). But look past that, and you found a patient, loyal, and honest man, the kind of guy who’d back up your plan to crash the girls’ beach party even as he rolled his eyes.

‘Course, there wasn’t much of that anymore now that Nanami was back—Hinata wasn’t the kind of guy to even think about straying, and peeping on your bro’s girlfriend was just uncool. But still. Kazuichi knew he could rely on Hinata. They had each other’s backs.

That wasn’t to say it was _just_ Hinata who was a buddy, though! Kazuichi sometimes got teary-eyed when he thought about all the friends he had—never would he have imagined that it was possible when he was younger. Even the scary ones like Kuzuryu, or the crazy ones like Komaeda, Kazuichi’d come around to appreciate. He’d relished his time in Hope’s Peak precisely because of the fun, whacky shenanigans they’d all gotten up to. But it was still nice to have a sane, male friend around, who also happened to share your talent. Someone you could count on to lend you a shoulder, have normal fun with, talk mechanical engineering with…

…and _tell you when your rival was gonna make a move on your girl_.

“What the hell, dude?! I thought you were my friend!”

Like breakfast and dinner, lunch was communal on Jabberwock Island. It wasn’t solely for socialization, but also an enforced, practical rule, so that some people (lookin’ at you, _Mitarai_ ) didn’t starve themselves working. Sometimes they ate indoors, sometimes outdoors; today was so beautiful that their little group had decided to eat outside, gravitating around the pool area. Hinata and Nanami, however, had split off for a picnic lunch on the beach, sitting in the shade of the palm trees. Kazuichi towered over them, hands on his hips as he scowled. He should have felt bad about crashing their date, but he was too pissed for that.

Because…they weren’t the only couple to have gone on a date.

Hinata didn’t answer right away. He finished chewing his rice, swallowed, and washed it down with his drink before he finally looked up at Kazuichi. All his motions were slow and deliberate, in a way the Hinata from the simulation had never really been. “I am. But Tanaka’s my friend too.”

The bastard. Even though it was what Kazuichi had come to talk about, it rankled him just how easily Hinata had guessed the source of his irritation. He’d probably predicted how this entire scene would play out, actually, and that just got him angrier. He was not following some pre-written script, dammit! “Yeah, but I’m your _best_ friend! Your soul friend! You’re supposed to have my back on this!”

“Soda-kun,” Nanami interrupted softly, “Hajime wasn’t trying to pick sides by keeping quiet.”

“He may as well have!” Kazuichi stabbed a finger at the other man accusingly. “You knew Tanaka was gonna ask Sonia-san out today, didn’t you?!”

“I predicted it was highly plausible, yes,” he admitted.

“And you didn’t do anything to stop it! He was _too_ picking sides!”

“Not wanting to ruin my friends’ happiness isn’t ‘picking sides’.”

“ _Yes it is!_ What about _my_ happiness, huh?!”

“They aren’t trying to hurt you, Soda-kun,” Nanami interjected, gazing in the beseeching, calm way she always used to back in high school. “That’s the difference. Trying to interfere _is_ trying to hurt them, and that’s not the right way to gain happiness. If Sonia-san and Tanaka-kun want to date—”

Kazuichi shrieked, flailing his arms. “Agh, don’t call it that! That makes it sound official!”

“It is official,” Hinata deadpanned.

“—then they should get the chance to try. Whether it goes any further or not isn’t for us to decide.”

The mechanic moaned, tugging fistfuls of hot pink hair. He turned and began pacing grooves in the sand. The adult part of his brain recognized the truth of what Nanami was saying, but the rest of him—the rest of him didn’t want to. “Okay…okay…it’s just one date. That doesn’t mean anything. Lots of people go on one date, realize they have nothing in common, and stop. Yeah, that’s it!” He nodded, feeling reassured already. “Sonia-san, she’s just taken in by his dark overlord act, but when she actually spends time with him, she’ll realize he’s—boring, or too dramatic, or—whatever! She’ll realize he’s not right for her, and she won’t do it again! Yeah. This is just…a temporary dip on the wild side.”

In the corner of his eye, he could see Hinata and Nanami exchanging glances. “Perhaps,” Hinata said neutrally. “But you shouldn’t raise your hopes.”

“ _Dude_!” Kazuichi wheeled, glaring. “Why would you say that?!”

“She’s always enjoyed his company, hasn’t she? More than yours.”

He flinched, feeling like he’d just been slapped in the face. As Nanami protested, “Hajime, that might have been a little harsh…” Kazuichi wavered, opening his mouth and pointing his finger, preparing to fire back with something that’d really put Hinata in his place!

…Except his mind shorted out—he’d never been that quick-witted. All he could think to blurt out was a lame, “Well—well you’re just a jerk!”

Without giving either a chance to reply, he spun and stomped off, not caring how childish the action was. His hands clenched and unclenched, shaking as waves of anger coursed through him. Hinata might think he could predict everything all the time, but he was wrong now. He _knew_ it. Sure, Sonia-san had never really looked at him in high school, but she’d started looking at him now! She’d even smiled and complimented him when they went to the Future Foundation’s rescue! She was definitely warming up to him! It was only a matter of time before she _really_ warmed.

“It’s just one date,” he muttered to himself, nodding in reassurance. “Then you’ll have your chance.”

* * *

It was not just one date. It was another, and another, and another. Kazuichi scowled more and more as, every mealtime, he was forced to watch his beautiful Sonia-san beaming at that bastard, whispering shared secrets. He grimaced every time Tanaka pulled one of her lovely chime-like laughs from her lips. He sulked as the pair became lost in a world only they had a map to. Saionji once commented that his face would get stuck that way, sniggering meanly as she added it would be an improvement.

Not helping matters was the newfound rift between Kazuichi and a certain _traitor._

“You’re being overdramatic,” Kuzuryu said dryly, watching Kazuichi yelp and throw himself behind a trash can to avoid Hinata, knocking it over. Unseen by the mechanic, Hinata lifted his eyes to the heavens and sighed, but kept walking.

Only when he was sure Hinata was gone did Kazuichi crawl out, grimacing as he brushed garbage out of his hair and off his jumpsuit. “I am not! _He’s_ at fault here!”

“Which is why _you’re_ the one running and hiding every time you see him.”

“I’m being non-confrontational,” Kazuichi insisted, starting down the road to Electric Avenue.

“Hinata went that way.”

Scowling, Kazuichi turned on a heel and headed back the way they’d came. His ears burned as Kuzuryu chuckled; floundering, Kazuichi yelled over his shoulder, “This doesn’t prove anything!”

“Soda, wait—” Rapid footsteps slapped the ground. “Look, I know this thing with Tanaka and Sonia has you upset, but you’re getting way too worked up about it.”

 _Why_ was luck never on his side? “No, I’m not! How’d _you_ feel if someone tried making a move on Pekoyama?”

Kuzuryu grabbed his arm and spun him around. “My relationship with Peko is _not_ what we’re talking about,” the yakuza growled, his face red. “We’re talking about how poor _your_ attitude is.”

“Leave the lecturing to Nanami.” He’d tried talking about this with her, because if _anyone_ was going to understand _she_ would, but all he got was concerned talks and suggestions that _maybe_ he was wrong. He didn’t want to have to hear that from _other_ people, too.

“No, I won’t, because this concerns all of us!” Kuzuryu stopped, taking a deep breath. “You’re always glaring at Tanaka, and you sulk and shoot even more pathetic looks at Sonia than usual. Anyone who’s happy for them, you snap at. You won’t hang out with Hinata anymore, and you are _really_ uncooperative in group therapy. It’s affecting the group dynamic.”

“Oh yeah, ‘cause you’ve always been one to care about that.”

It was a cruel thing to say, and he regretted it the moment it left his mouth. Sure enough, Kuzuryu’s eye widened, then narrowed. He clenched a fist; involuntarily, Kazuichi flinched, tugging on his beanie.

But whatever imminent explosion he was bracing for dissipated; his friend’s shoulders slumped, tension draining out. “You know what? Fuck you.”

Kazuichi’s stomach twisted as Kuzuryu stormed off. _Aw, crap._ Why did he always do this? Why did he always have to put his foot in his mouth? Why could words never come when he wanted them, and then jumped to his lips when he didn’t?

_Keep this up, genius, and you’ll drive away all the friends you have._

He ran after, shouting apologies.

* * *

“I don’t want to talk about it!”

“I’m sorry,” Nanami said. “But I really think we need to.”

Nanami’s office was in the lodge, and you’d think none of them would want to set foot there after everything that had happened. But they were all surprisingly okay with it. Jabberwock Island had a lot of places with bad memories, many of them—the hotel where Komaeda had set off his bomb, the hospital where the despair disease crippled them, the supermarket where so many murder tools were taken—just too necessary to avoid. _The island itself_ had been a prison, for crying out loud. They were all determined that they wouldn’t let those bad memories cripple them.

But for some of them…for some of them, there were places they just couldn’t go near. And no one tried to force them. Nothing, not even being murdered, could have stopped Mioda from enjoying the music venue, but Saionji never went to it alone or at night. Koizumi hated the beach house. For his part, Kazuichi avoided the Funhouse, phantom hunger pains clenching his stomach whenever he thought about stepping inside.

But the lodge? He’d never had a problem with the lodge.

Except now, when the walls were pressing on him and trapping him in a therapy session he _very much did not want to have_.

Kazuichi grinded his teeth, sinking lower in his chair. “I said no!”

He didn’t know what it was like for the others, but in his sessions, Nanami always opted out of sitting behind the desk to have the second plush chair. She leaned forward now, bracing her arms against her knees. “Soda-kun, _please_. I’m worried about you.”

“You’re just gonna tell me ‘no, let your feelings go!’ and ‘you’re wrong to be unhappy’!”

“…Have I really ever given you that impression?”

It was partially one of those ‘make you think’ questions she liked, and partially genuine fear. He could hear it in her voice. And even if he _did not want to talk to her,_ he still felt a little flicker of guilt at that note. Nanami wasn’t like Koizumi, who always had a ‘righteous mom’ presence about her, but she‘d found a way to work herself into the nooks and crannies of every one of their hearts nevertheless. Koizumi would scold you if you said no to her when she was right; Nanami was too sweet and mild to do that, but that would just make you feel too jerkish to continue.

“No,” he mumbled reluctantly, uncrossing his arms.

Her entire body relaxed, a soft breath of air passing through her lips. “Good… Then, will you please trust me? Just—at least tell me why you think they’re not gonna work out.”

“Because they—they just _can’t_!” The thought of this pain, this sense of loss _never ending_ , was too nightmarish to even consider. “ _I_ want to go out with Sonia-san! I’d treat her like the queen she is, the way she deserves to be, not however that bastard is!”

“Do you ever see him treating her unkindly?” Nanami asked pointedly.

Kazuichi floundered a bit. “W-Well, no, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t!”

“Do you think he’s the kind of person who would?”

 _Yes_ died before it even came to his lips. Kazuichi had many problems with Tanaka—his loudness, his dismissive attitude, that stupid chuunibyo act—but cruelty was not something he could claim the guy had. He’d always been protective of his classmates, and he treated his animals like Kazuichi treated his machines—with gentle reverence, pride and care.

You could tell a lot about a person by how they treated what was important to them.

“No,” he was forced to grumble. But, unwilling to admit defeat, he continued, a whine entering his tone, “B-But that doesn’t mean Sonia-san wouldn’t be happier with me! I’m stylish and talented and cool! So why…”

He had to pause so his voice wouldn’t crack. “Why _him_?”

Nanami opened her mouth, paused, then spoke slowly. “That’s a question only Sonia-san can answer, I’m afraid. You and Tanaka-kun both have your good points, but what draws us to each person…well, that depends on the individual. Relationships need chemistry. Do you get what I’m saying?”

He knew Nanami was trying to guide him to some epiphany, and deep down in his subconscious he might already know it. But Kazuichi recoiled from it, from the notion that something might be wrong with _him_. It was too painful to consider. So he latched onto the first alternative he found.

“I totally have chemistry with Sonia-san! S-She just hasn’t seen it yet because Tanaka’s blinded her, and—and you don’t because you’re on Hinata’s side!” He accused, and oh damn it, Nanami was looking at him with sad eyes like he’d kicked her rabbit. Not that he ever would. He liked Yumigami. _She_ didn’t keep secrets from him or take sides—no wait, Tanaka could talk to animals, couldn’t he? So maybe he’d told her about his plans to date Sonia-san. Great, now she might be in league with him, too.

What was so great about Tanaka, anyway? Was it some bad boy thing? That was so dumb and unfair! Sure, Tanaka had pretty good fashion sense, and it was kinda cool how he could fight so well, but he was such a _weirdo_! All that talk about overlords and dark magic—there was no reason for Sonia-san to pick Tanaka over him!

Or…maybe Sonia-san didn’t _know_ he liked her? He couldn’t see _how,_ he thought he’d made his feelings for her obvious every single day, but—she was so innocent. So sweet and sheltered. Maybe an ingenue princess like her couldn’t pick up the signals he was sending? And if she didn’t know, maybe—

Maybe…things would be different.

Yeah. Yeah, that was it! That had to be! This was just—loneliness! Poor Sonia-san must be feeling so torn, so unsettled at having to go from living in a castle to living on an island. S-So when Tanaka came along, offering arms and _hamsters,_ of course she’d take him up on it!

Nanami was still talking, saying something about—letting go and maturity? What the hell? Yeah, _she_ was one to talk, waiting how long for Hinata-slash-Kamukura again? Why the hell was it okay for _her_ to hold on to love, but not _him_? Anger and bitterness and hurt bubbled up, welling greater and greater—

He threw his hands in the air, not caring for his rudeness when he interrupted, “Is it _really_ so wrong for me to want to be happy?!”

Distress crossed her face. “That’s not…that wasn’t what I was trying to say—”

“Y’know what, never mind. I’m not listening to this,” he muttered, and over Nanami’s protests stomped out.

* * *

He spent the rest of that day throwing together a plan to confess. He wanted to get it done the next day, if at all possible. It made him feel mixed. Even the thought of confessing made his heart simultaneously soar and sink to the pit of his stomach. It would be the day everything changed for him, he _knew_ it. But after everything—the… _fling_ she had with Tanaka, everyone’s judgments—he couldn’t bear to wait any longer.

So Kazuichi did his best to make himself presentable for his confession. He found a shirt that didn’t have too much grease on it, tied his jumper around his waist, and borrowed a tie from Kuzuryu. He’d never worn a tie in his life, and he spent far too long looking at internet tutorials and fumbling through even the easiest knots. As he left his cottage, he saw Hinata passing by, and glowered—the latter raised an eyebrow, but said nothing at Kazuichi’s lack of panicky flight.

_This is gonna be a great day. I’m not gonna have a single hair out of place because I was hidin’ from that jerk!_

He approached her at the military base, at a time he knew she’d be alone (and no, that _wasn’t_ stalking, whatever anyone said). Sonia-san was outside by the fence, gazing at the tanks, a sad little expression on her face. She didn’t seem to notice him.

Kazuichi stopped, coughing politely, then a little louder. She glanced up, giving him a smile. His heartbeat doubled. _Damn, she’s so gorgeous…_

“Is something wrong, Soda-san?”

He blinked. _Oh shit—she said something and I missed it! Nice going, idiot!_ “Oh! Oh, uh, no. Sorry, I was just…distracted.” He made to put his hands behind his head, remembered the envelope almost too late, and swung them at his side instead. “You’re just so hot, you know? Made me forget what I was gonna say!”

She smiled, as radiant as the sun itself in his lovestruck eyes. “Thank you.”

Kazuichi grinned a little. _Aw yeah. I’m killing it._ Where to go from here? Should he come out and say it, or—no, he couldn’t. His nerves were seizing up, locking his limbs into place. To buy time, he tried, “Soooo, what’s a princess like you doing in a place like this?”

Sonia-san let out a soft huff. “I am hardly a princess anymore, Soda-san. I am presumed dead, my country is in shambles, and what’s left are writing up a constitution. Novoselic no longer holds the same faith in monarchy.”

“Details!” He waved a hand. “What do they know, anyway? You’ve got royal blood, that just doesn’t go away! You’re better than all them!”

“I am not!” Kazuichi flinched at the sharpness of her tone and intensity of her glare. Sonia-san cleared her throat, looking abashed. “I apologize for raising my voice, but that is simply untrue, and I cannot stand for any slander of my homeland or its people!”

She gestured to the weapons. “I manufactured countless weapons just like this when I was…” One hand clutched defensively at her arm, emotion flooding her voice. “In despair. I turned them on any country I wished, or even my own citizens if they disagreed with my decisions… And I enjoyed it. That is why I come here. To reminisce.”

He’d known the details of what Sonia-san had done as Ultimate Despair—even in that state, he’d still kept tabs on her—but to hear _why_ she came to this base…well, it wasn’t what he’d expected. It was such a shocking revelation, Kazuichi found his tongue again. “You shouldn’t punish yourself like this, Sonia-san! None of us had any control over what we were doing! I know for sure you’re so sweet, you’d never hurt a fly!”

She shook her head and golden hair waved through the air, a sight so beautiful he almost missed her next words. “You misunderstand. The memories are terrible, yes, but I do not come here for self-flagellation. This place…reminds me of why I must keep going.”

Her lipid blue eyes blinked several times in succession, glinting, and she ducked her head. In soft tones, Sonia-san whispered, “Besides…there is nothing else here that reminds me of Novoselic. In an awful way…visiting this base is the closest I can get to home.”

Kazuichi didn’t answer. Her quiet confession left him stunned. _I never knew…Sonia-san felt like that…_

When Sonia-san finally looked back up, her eyes were dry, almost like nothing had happened. “I apologize for losing my composure. But…I would like to be alone.”

And just like that, his concern and shock vanished into thin air. Kazuichi’s mouth went dry. If he did like she asked—if he left her here—he wouldn’t be brave enough to do this again. He knew that already. Even now, he could feel his nerves shriveling up. Were his palms sweating? They were totally sweating. He really wished he’d worn gloves. “Um, actually—!”

She looked at him.

Kazuichi licked his lips and then cursed himself for doing something so uncool in front of a princess. He held out the envelope, hoping it would distract her. “I, um—I actually came here to give you this. I know you’re always here this hour, this day, so…here you go!”

He shifted from foot to foot, nervousness bubbling in his stomach like a fizzy soda, as Sonia-san opened the envelope. Her face became unreadable as she read the words on the card inside. Kazuichi knew he wasn’t good at that. Words, that was. He was too emotional, and he didn’t do well under pressure, and if he tried to talk, he’d end up tripping over his tongue and making a fool of himself. So he’d just—put it all down instead.

As he watched her eyes scroll across the interior, he recited the words to himself, reassured that they were good. _Sonia-san, from the moment I saw you, I’ve been enraptured by your beauty. I stare at you all the time! I adore you so much, I think about you every minute of everyday. Please, please let me take you out!_

When she finished, she returned the card to the envelope and offered it back. His heart stuttered, confusion and pain biting him as he hesitantly took it. His hands shook. “Soda-san,” she began, “while your words are clearly heartfelt, I cannot in good conscience accept them.”

He hurried, “I know you’re seeing that bas—Tanaka, but—I thought, maybe, you’d want to know you have other options—”

“It is not solely because of my relationship with Gundham-san that I refuse.” He _hated_ hearing her call Tanaka by his given name, even with the honorific attached. “If you will permit me to be blunt, your behavior over the course of our relationship was most unwelcome. You disregarded my personal privacy, objectified me, and made sexual comments I found uncomfortable.”

It was said evenly, not in an accusing tone. A statement of fact. It felt worse than if she’d been angry. Kazuichi felt something raw and painful claw at his chest. His eyes burned. _That…that isn’t it! That wasn’t what it was like. I was just…_

“I consider you a classmate and friend, but that is all. I hope my rejection does not sour our relationship going forth.”

She turned back to the weapons, clearly dismissing him, but Kazuichi couldn’t let it go just yet. His dream girl was disintegrating into stardust, falling through his fingers, right before his eyes. He made to grab at her arm and tried not to cry when she pulled away. “Did I…” He swallowed. “Did I ever have a chance?”

Sonia-san looked at him once, long and hard. “I think it is best I do not answer that,” she said, not unkindly, and that was answer in of itself.

Kazuichi blinked several times, trying to force back the treacherous wetness beading in his eyes. He backed away. “Yeah…okay. Sorry to, um, bother you. I’ll just…I’ll go.”

* * *

His legs carried him away from the factory, pumping nonstop. He felt sick to his stomach. He couldn’t—he couldn’t go back to the main island for lunch. Sonia-san would return soon, and if he had to be there, in the same room as her, after what she’d said—had to see Sonia-san’s brilliant smile as she gazed at Tanaka like she’d never gaze at _him_ —

_“If you will permit me to be blunt, your behavior over the course of our relationship was most unwelcome.”_

He choked on a sob. He wanted to be _away_. Preferably for the rest of his life.

Kazuichi didn’t know where to go. His cottage? That would be the first place people would look if they called on him. His workshop? Second. Hotel for some cuddling with Yumigami? Too much traffic. He mentally ran through his usual hangouts, filing them all as poor as his feet wandered blindly. It was with some surprise that Kazuichi looked up and found that he’d ended up at the Funhouse’s threshold.

Immediately, he started to shiver. The thought of stepping inside made his stomach clench, over and over, and filled him with the fear that the door would slam shut, locking him in. That he would be trapped, wasting away slowly yet again. _And worse_ , whispered the tiny voice in the back of his head, the one that liked to remind him about his dad and the bullies at his past schools, _that no one will bother to look for you._

But—no one here _would_ think to look for him here, right? Wasn’t that what he wanted? To be alone?

 _Not forever!_ He cried to the voice in his head. _I don’t want to be alone forever!_

He turned away, the queasy feeling in his stomach abating slightly, and staggered off. His legs felt like jelly now, and his vision kept growing blurry.

Damn it _—damn it_ —

He sank to the floor at the entrance. This was fine, right? If he didn’t have to look at the Funhouse, or go inside, this would be fine. It felt fine. It would be fine to just…

Kazuichi dropped his head in his arms and cried.

They were ugly tears, bitter tears, tears of a lost dream. He cried for what felt like hours, hating how miserable he felt and hating himself for daring to feel upset. Part of him thought, deep down, that he deserved this. He’d been Ultimate Despair—he’d helped destroy the world—so he didn’t deserve to be happy. But then everyone else was happy, and surely they deserved it, which meant he did too, and—

_Why couldn’t it be me?_

_“If you will permit me to be blunt, your behavior over the course of our relationship was most unwelcome.”_

Her words played through his head over and over, an answering machine he couldn’t dismantle.

_“If you will permit me to be blunt, your behavior over the course of our relationship was most unwelcome.”_

It wasn’t Tanaka, blinding Sonia-san to Kazuichi’s charms. It wasn’t Sonia-san, pining for him but thinking him uninterested. It was himself. He’d gone and ruined things before they could even begin, like the fool he’d so desperately tried not to be—

Kazuichi laughed, hysterically. _Ruined_ things? That suggested he’d even had a chance. He hadn’t. Sonia-san had flat-out said it.

In all his time of meticulously learning Sonia-san’s schedule, he’d never wondered why she visited the military base. He hadn’t known about her pain. He hadn’t cared. He hadn’t wanted to support her in a genuine way. Support her to make himself look better, sure, but not just to make her feel better. That was _her_ job.

He didn’t want to see past that pretty image he’d painted in his head, the cracks and flaws in the woman on the pedestal. So he’d refused to look. _If you don’t see something it isn’t there._

A shadow fell over him. He glanced up to see Hinata standing next to him, studying him with red-and-green eyes. Somehow, Kazuichi didn’t even feel surprised. Hinata’d probably predicted _this_ entire scenario, too. Maybe even followed him from a distance. Hell, even if he _hadn’t_ , his luck probably guided him here just so he could rub in how right he’d been.

He waited for it, for Hinata to say _I told you so_. But the other man didn’t. He only sat down, one knee pulled up, forearm draped across it, and gazed up at the sky in silence. Kazuichi turned his face away as a fresh wave of tears welled up.

Acceptance hurt, maybe even more than blame.

“…You probably think I’m an idiot, don’t you?” Kazuichi finally sniffed wetly, when he felt like his voice wouldn’t crack. It still did. _Traitor_.

Hinata let out a soft little sigh. “You repeatedly displayed behavior around Sonia that any person would find undesirable, and was surprised when it repulsed her. Yes, in that way, I would consider you an idiot.”

Kazuichi flinched, tugging his beanie down. He knew—Nanami had hinted, and Sonia-san had outright said it—he knew his behavior hadn’t been healthy or appropriate. Now. He knew now, but back then—well, if he had known, he hadn’t really cared. He’d just wanted her. Wanted that pretty blonde girlfriend. He wished, dearly, there was something he could blame his behavior on.

But there was nothing or no one to excuse responsibility. Just him.

“But,” Hinata continued, “I don’t think being sad about rejection is ‘being an idiot’. Just being human.”

A pause, then he said, softer, “I’m sorry for not warning you that Tanaka was going to ask her out. I calculated you’d try to interfere, and that would only create more difficulty. But I should have had more faith in my friend.”

It would have been easy to leap on that, to find blame in someone else. Denial had always been one of Kazuichi’s favorite armors. But…denial had also _caused_ all this in the first place. Denial had blinded him for so long. And now that it had been ripped away, exposing the ugly truth underneath, he couldn’t just put it back on.

Kazuichi shook his head. “No…I probably _would_ have tried something, and then put you in a spot where you had to choose who to support. I…I get why you didn’t say anything. ‘M sorry for yelling all that stuff I did.”

Hinata briefly placed a supportive hand on his shoulder, letting it drop after a moment. Kazuichi sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“It was…it was my dream, y’know?” the mechanic finally mumbled.

When he’d been younger, when he ached at night—either from his dad’s beatings or from the bullying at school—he would lie on his bed and fantasize about it. Somewhere out there, there was a girl for him. Someone the exact opposite of him, someone who everyone would want, but who would only want him. Someone who saw past his lanky figure and the oil stains on his clothes, who would look at him and say, “Soda Kazuichi, you are the only one for me.”

Blonde hair was the first trait he assigned this mysterious, imaginary lady. There weren’t many natural blondes in Japan, but he’d sometimes catch glimpses of gyarus and fashionistas on magazine covers, and their honey-like hair had captivated him. But she’d be a _natural_ blonde, not fake, nothing about her would be fake. She would be kind, and loving, and dignified, and he just kept building onto this fantasy, adding everything he could ever want, until she towered on a pedestal.

So coming to Hope’s Peak and meeting Sonia-san, the living embodiment of all his hopes…it was a literal dream come true. It was like life was finally going to deliver for him.

Too bad life was just playing a practical joke.

Kazuichi didn’t even know how to say all this without sounding washy or stupid, so he just trailed off and dropped his head in his arms. Fortunately, Hinata was a smart enough guy to figure out the gist on his own. "You held fast to a hope, and now you feel lost without it."

He sniffled. “Yeah…the only other blonde chick is Saionji, and I’m not _that_ desperate.”

Hinata chuckled lightly. Kazuichi did too, the chuckle spiraling and growing into a full-on, unnecessary laugh. He laughed hard enough to shake his entire body. He laughed and laughed until it turned to sobs again. He buried his head in his arms. Hinata patted him on the back, and Kazuichi cried, and for a long time, long enough that he knew the Ultimate Hope must be getting bored, that was how they stayed.

Hinata was a _really_ good friend.

* * *

The sun had passed it's zenith when they finally left. As they crossed the bridge back to the central island, Kazuichi spotted a small figure in the distance, rapidly growing larger. It revealed itself to be Nanami, eyes wide; a look of profound relief crossed her face when she saw them. As she spoke, her words ran into each other, rapid-fire and blurring from her need to get them out.  “There you are! Hajime texted, he said you were on the fourth island, but it’s been a really long time, so I was getting worried…”

Kazuichi rubbed the back of his neck, awkward in the face of her blatant anxiety. “Uh, well, we’re both fine. No need to get so worked up.”

He immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say, because her shoulders slumped. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be annoying…”

“You’re fine, Chiaki,” Hajime said, eyes soft as he took her hand. She laid her other over his, and somehow an entire unspoken conversation happened in those two gestures. Kazuichi had to look away—Sonia-san’s rejection was still too raw for open affection to not sting.

He wasn’t a therapist, but he was pretty sure Nanami had some kind of anxiety or abandonment issue when it came to—well, all of them. She liked knowing where everyone was and got stressed if people weren’t where she expected them to be. The first time Mitarai had been late to one of their group therapy sessions, she’d tried to bolt out the door to find him herself.

Sometimes it did get annoying, especially when it made her get hyper-focused about knowing when and where everyone would be. But she meant well, and she was still trying to heal, like the rest of them.

It was with this in mind that Kazuichi cleared his throat. The pair glanced at him. He rubbed his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, you are. It’s nice that you care so much.”

She smiled a little at that. Emboldened, he added, “And… ‘m sorry about the stuff I said last session, too. You were just trying to help, and I shouldn’t have lashed out like that just because I didn’t like what you were saying.”

Nanami shook her head. “It’s alright, Soda-kun. You’re hardly the first patient to rage quit.” Her eyes traced over his face, taking in the dried tearstains and red nose. “Do you wanna talk about it now? Um, not that I’m trying to push you into anything—just…I can clear up my afternoon, that’s what I meant…”

His throat clogged. Kazuichi felt like he was barely holding himself together, that the slightest bit of compassion or weakness would send him spiraling back into a weeping mess. It was a state he desperately did not want to return to. “Not…not right now. But…in a bit, yeah. Yeah, that’d be good.”

“Alright...” Nanami still looked like she wanted to hover, but Hinata touched her arm and murmured something in her ear, eyes flicking almost imperceptibly to Kazuichi. She nodded at that, and they bid him farewell, then. More gratitude welled in him at his friends' understanding. He was—not feeling better. Feeling less worse, maybe? Whatever. He was glad for their support, really he was, but he felt drained and broken and being around people would take what little energy he had left.

For a moment, he lingered on the central island, just—collecting himself. He stuck his hands in his pockets. They brushed against something, crumpled paper. He took it out.

The envelope with his confession to Sonia-san.

More pain laced through him.

How was he going to get through this? How was he going to walk around, look at Sonia-san, sit across from her, and bear with her rejection  _in addition_ to her happiness with Tanaka? The day that came seemed like an impossibility.

_But…there'll be a day, right?_

He bit his lip. Slowly, carefully, he took the confession out and tore it into strips. It didn't magically make everything better. It didn't even feel particularly freeing. But it felt—right, somehow.

 _I'll…be alright. I think._   _Not now, not tomorrow, maybe not even in a month. But I'll be alright, someday._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: writer’s block is absolute hell y/y?
> 
> I’m in this strange position on Kazuichi. I hate how creepy he is around Sonia, and I hate that he never really apologizes to Hajime about the Funhouse, but I like their friendship. I like his FTEs. So it sort of balances out to a weird neutrality where I swing between “god you’re a creep” and “best bro”.


	5. Friendly Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Challenge: how many different ways can I describe ‘crying’ without crying myself.

_Everything faded away. The young man who said he was an AI, the still figures of her friends, even the whiteness itself. It all faded. She mourned it. She wanted to stay in that perfect dream world, where nothing had ever gone wrong and everyone loved her, forever, but he wouldn’t let her. He hounded her until she finally admitted that this whole world was—_

“…iki…ear…e?”

_That this whole world was—_

“Tsumiki, can you hear me?”

She opened her eyes and immediately grimaced. The lights in the room gleamed, too brightly; she blinked rapidly, trying to clear the reflexive tears away. There was a man leaning over her, looking down. As her vision returned to normal, his features became clear. He looked familiar, but _wrong._ She couldn’t pinpoint what; her mind felt hazy. Her brow furrowed.

 _What’s wrong about him…?_ The man had short dark hair, with one eye green, one eye red—and that was it! That was what was wrong! His appearance was a mess of contradictions, two different looks mashed together to produce one crooked, Frankenstein whole. She’d…yes, she’d seen him three times over, and he was a different person each time—the destroyer of her dream world—the kind boy on the island—the perfect, dead-eyed Ultimate Hope—

_That’s right…he’s the one who gathered us, who led us here, where he uploaded Enoshima-sama’s virus. And I’m—_

Memories were clicking back into place. Her body locked up, breath catching in her chest, before rushing out too fast.

_I’m—_

“Easy, Tsumiki,” Kamukura-san said as she started hyperventilating—but no, that wasn’t quite right, was it? Kamukura-san had never been kind. He’d never spoken to them more than necessary. He never would have tried to comfort her. “You’re alright now.”

No, no, she _wasn’t_. She wasn’t alright, she was _never_ going to be _alright_ again. Not when the fog had lifted from her mind and revealed the ugly bones that lay beneath. Not when her hands, which were supposed to heal, had groped and fondled an unwilling Mitarai-san—not when they’d pushed Nanami-san to her doom—not when they had the blood of thousands on them—

 _Oh god the_ blood _the_ killing _the_ screams _did you know how many ways someone with her skillset could kill people? Cut open arteries to slowly bleed them dry. Vivisect them and toy with their insides. Inject them with cocktails of drugs that should never be mixed. There were_ so many ways _and she’d DONE THEM ALL._

A heart-wrenching cry left Tsumiki Mikan’s throat. Then another, and another, a whole storm of sobs exploding out of her. There weren’t any words to describe them. Pain, horror, guilt, and despair swirled around as her mind finally understood the scope of everything it had done.

“It’s okay. Just let it out. It’s all over now.”

 _What_ was over? Her nightmare? No, her nightmare was just beginning. Back then, being in despair hadn’t been a nightmare, it had been a daydream, and oh, that was the worst part. She had loved Enoshima-sama wholeheartedly. She had believed in despair with all her being. She had done so many terrible things _and she hadn’t cared at all—_

_Wait a minute. Enoshima-sama?_

Her breath hitched, her waterworks slowed. Mikan stared at nothing in particular, eyes wide.

_That’s not right._

_I…I don’t worship her._

_More than anything…_

_I DESPISE HER._

Fury burned away her tears. Though she knew Enoshima was dead, Mikan suddenly wished she wasn’t. She _wished_ Enoshima was still alive so she could kill her herself. She _wished_ she could make her pay for—for the abuse and the brainwashing and every single person who’d died in the Tragedy. She _wished_ she’d been able to enjoy her death when she’d watched it, instead of just feeling more damned despair—

_But it’s over. I’m free now._

And suddenly, it was all too much. Everything just…crashed. The emotions that were buoying her, the despair and rage and horror, they seemed to just vanish. She went slack, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Her lungs heaved for air.

A hand entered her field of vision. She looked up. Kamukura-san was still leaning over, compassion in his eyes. When they locked gazes, he smiled slightly— _Am I still dreaming?_ Mikan wondered. _No, if I was, everything would be undone_ —and spoke again. “Do you feel better?”

She did, a little. She wasn’t _alright,_ but—better. Slowly, Mikan nodded, letting him pull her up. “Yes… Y-You helped me wake up, right? Thank you.” She cleared her throat, embarrassed for what she was about to ask. “Um, I’m sorry if this is rude, but…who a-are you? Are you Kamukura-san, or Hinata-san?”

He smiled _again_ , and Mikan had to fight the urge to openly stare. “They’re both me.”

 _Does it have something to do with the Neo World Program?_ It must. “Is it okay if…if I call you Hinata-san?”

It was an easy thing to ask. Kamukura-san had gathered her and the others, but he hadn’t been her friend. Hinata-san was.

“That’s fine. I prefer it, to be honest.”

“Hinata-san, then. Um…” She almost didn’t dare finish her question, icy claws grasping her heart. “I-Is…everyone else, are they okay…?”

“Most of them are awake and cured, like you. Nidai, Tanaka, and Komaeda are the only ones still comatose, but I predict they’ll awaken as well.”

Her eyes started to grow wet again. _Thank goodness…thank goodness…_ “My friends…can I…?”

Hinata-san nodded. “Of course. They’re right outside…we try not to overwhelm people when they wake up. But they’re all anxious to see you.”

* * *

The first face that greeted Mikan, when Hinata-san brought her out of the pod room, sent a bolt of joy through her. It was different, black hair and no glasses, but she knew it all the same. The last time she’d seen this person, he’d been lying under a table in a pool of his own blood. She’d performed the autopsy with shaking hands, trying not to cry as she carefully measured and examined all those horrible stabs wounds. “I-Imposter-san!”

Her closest friend smiled, stepping close and giving her a hug. “I’m glad you’re awake, Tsumiki.”

That’s right…that’s right, it wasn’t real. His death had happened but it _wasn’t real._ She’d _known_ that, heard he and everyone else was alright, but some part of her had still been afraid—

He was fine. They were all…they were all fine. She stepped around him, heart racing at all the faces she could see. They were coming forth carefully, trying not to scare or overwhelm her, but they were all so ecstatic she was awake. She could see it on their faces, and in the way they exclaimed her name and welcomed her back, and she felt so loved—there was Pekoyama-san and Hanamura-san and Owari-san and—

Mikan’s budding joy shriveled.

And _her_.

Two _hers,_ specifically. One’s face was pierced and smiling, hair dyed and coned. The sight of Mioda-san filled Mikan with guilt and shame, and she fell to her knees before her. “I’m sorry!” she gasped, “I’m so, so sorry!”

Even as she said it, she flinched, awaiting the stream of justified hate and anger. Surely, Mioda-san would—

“It’s alright, Mikan-chan! Ibuki knows you weren’t yourself!”

 _What?_ No, Mioda-san’s forgiveness couldn’t be as easy as that. As if it was totally natural. As if she didn’t remember her own gasps for air. As if she didn’t remember the rope straining against her throat. As if she didn’t remember, even then, remaining faithfully docile, obedient, not even putting up a _fight_ —

Panic and self-loathing threatened to overwhelm her. “No, it’s not alright! There has t-to be something I can do to m-make up for it! You can stick twigs up my nose and call me a walrus, o-or tie my hands behind my back and make me eat off the floor, or—”

“Whoa, whoa!” the musician squawked, waking her hands frantically. “That’s totally not what Ibuki wants, Mikan-chan! That’s like, way too extreme!”

Mikan shook her head, over and over. She couldn’t let Mioda-san forgive her this easily. Wastes of space like her, _murderous_ wastes of space like her, didn’t _deserve_ to be forgiven so easily. “Th-There has to be _something_! It c-can’t be that simple, you can’t forgive me just like that!”

“Sure I can. Like I said, I know you didn’t have any control. And we’re friends! Friends forgive each other.”

Mikan began crying again, fat tears of relief running down her cheeks. Mioda-san gathered her in a hug, and Sonia-san passed her a handkerchief to wipe her face with, and when she was done they helped her up. And that was that.

But when Mikan did straighten up, she saw her again. The _other_ her, the one hanging at the back, biting her lip and fiddling with her hands. The _other_ her sent a far more confusing surge of emotions through Mikan. Relief that she was alright, but also resentment and anger and sadness and desperation. And, most notably, the realization that she didn’t feel guilty.

She didn’t feel guilty for murdering Saionji Hiyoko.

Or, not in the way she felt guilty for murdering Mioda-san. It was like…she felt bad she’d committed murder specifically, but not bad it had been Saionji-san. Not bad she’d gotten back for all the bullying, even if that hadn’t been _why_ she’d murdered her. And that tied back into the bits of shame, that she’d **murdered** someone because it had been _convenient,_ because they’d walked in on her murdering someone else… But if it had to be someone, Mikan felt, in a small way, vindictive that it had been Saionji-san.

With such a storm in her stomach, what was she supposed to do?

In the end, Mikan chose to do nothing. She swept her eyes right over Saionji-san, as if she hadn’t seen her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Saionji-san flinch, then her hands ball into fists. The dancer started to move forward before Hinata-san intercepted her, stepping between them so smoothly Mikan was almost convinced it was entirely accidental. He smiled at her. “You look tired, Tsumiki. Would you like to have some time alone?”

She nodded frantically, bobble-head up and down, desperate to escape before Saionji-san ruined this reunion with something cruel. _Even if I deserve it…_

“Sonia,” Hinata-san said. “Could you bring Tsumiki to her cottage? Answer any questions she has and ensure she’s settled in comfortably.”

* * *

Sonia-san explained a bit about Jabberwock Island’s structure and life as she escorted Mikan. It was almost identical to how it had been in the simulation, the most noticeable difference being the lack of ruins on the second island. In their place was the building housing the Neo World Program. According to Sonia-san, it had been designed purely to run the program; while there were rooms for the computers, the hardware, everything vital to the virtual world, there were no living spaces. The original five survivors had, for a time, stayed there anyway, living in makeshift bedrooms. Once the World Destroyer had been constructed, they’d moved out to the cottages, content to let the AI watch over their friends and alert them when one was about to awaken or in case of emergencies.

Everyone, Sonia-san had continued, mostly stuck to the same schedule as in the program—breakfast together, but Hinata-san also enforced lunch and dinner as well. He also had therapy sessions available, though according to Sonia-san, they were less therapy and more them just crying or screaming or not talking at all. Once everyone was awake, things like real schedules and group therapy would be properly implemented.

Those feelings, Mikan could sympathize with. When she got to her cottage, she spent the rest of that day alternately crying out of sorrow over her crimes and crying out of relief that it was over, that most of her friends were okay. The day after she woke up, she just felt too hollow to move; she spent it entirely lying in bed, staring at the ceiling.

But she wasn’t alone. The Imposter brought her breakfast and lunch, and her friends periodically dropped by to see how she was. All of them were full of empathy for her situation and encouraging words. And each time, beams of warmth pierced through the fog that lay over her.

All of them came, except Saionji-san. Saionji-san didn’t show at all.

At dinner, it was Hinata-san who brought her food, that same compassion in his eyes. They made a bit of small talk, where he asked how she was doing and told her about the robot arm he and Soda-san were creating for Komaeda-san. “It’s almost done, but I thought you should still take a look at it and give your input.”

“I’m…I’m sure you could tell if, medically speaking, everything was properly designed…better than me…”

He shook his head. “Having all this talent doesn’t make me infallible, Tsumiki. Thinking I was played a part in all this. I don’t want to take chances, and I trust your expertise.”

A pleased little bubble of delight fizzled in her chest. “W-Well, in that case, yes. I will.”

“Excellent. Also, I’ve spoken to the World Destroyer. By his estimate, Nidai will wake up in a few days.”

“S-So soon?” Mikan cried, equally surprised and elated.

Hinata-san nodded. "The World Destroyer is quite skilled at his task." He gestured to the still-untouched food. "So…would you please eat and keep up your strength? I'm sure Nidai would like to see you when he wakes up."

 _Oh…_ Oh, he was good. Suddenly Mikan recognized what he’d been doing. Telling her about that arm, asking for her help? It was a way to get her out and active. As was mentioning Nidai-san; there was no way Mikan could ever refuse to be there for her classmates. Even if she doubted they’d ever need her for anything that wasn’t medical…she was still worried about Nidai-san. And Tanaka-san, and Komaeda-san. Of course, she wanted to be there when they woke up, to get that reassurance once again that _they were fine_.

Clever Hinata-san. Then again, it was to be expected. “I’ll try.”

* * *

That next morning, Mikan still wasn’t feeling better, but she thought—she thought she could get out of bed. For her friends’ sake. She swiftly dressed, marveling at how easy it was for her to move despite her time comatose. She vaguely recalled Kirigiri-san explaining, before putting them in, that the Neo World Program used a combination of torpor stasis and VR tech while they were in it. The torpor stasis would keep their bodies healthy and prevent degradation, while the VR tech would keep counteract the stasis’s effect on their brains. _Well…it’s nice to not have to relearn everything…_

When Mikan left her cottage, she saw a few of her classmates loitering around the pool, chatting. She smiled and nodded in their directions, but didn’t dare interrupt. Just because they’d stopped to see her yesterday didn’t mean they’d care for her barging in on them, after all.

No one was in the hotel lobby yet—were they all still asleep? Or maybe upstairs? As she pushed open the restaurant door, she was already planning her entrance. No—not so much planning as acting on instinct. By now it was second nature to trip over her own feet, to turn her body _just so_ as she fell. Down to the ground she went, legs spreading for a flash. Mikan waited for the eyes to turn onto her, the reassurance that people had noticed her and that she, even in a small, humiliating way, still mattered.

“Ugh, this again? Do you have thumbtacks in your shoes or something?”

A chill went up her spine. Out of everyone here, it had to be _her…_

And worse, a quick glance around showed that it was just Saionji-san in the restaurant. The blonde crossed her arms, not doing anything to help Mikan up. She stumbled to her feet and dusted off her apron. “I’m sorry…for showing you something so unsightly…” Without looking up, she hurried to a far table, hoping that someone else would enter soon.

“Hey, hold on! That’s it?!”

Mikan flinched, dread prickling her stomach as she reluctantly turned. “E-Excuse me?”

“You heard me! What was up with that cold shoulder when you woke up? You give that punk reject a sobbing apology, but not me? You—” Saionji-san’s throat worked, and her voice, when it came back, almost sounded pained. “You _killed_ me!”

A long, hard silence stretched out.

“…I’m not sorry.”

It took Mikan a moment to recognize her own voice, weak and wavering and even more pitiful than usual. Butterflies took flight in her stomach as the words hung in the air, heavy and damning and impossible to take back. Saionji-san was staring at her, eyes the size of dinner plates. “What did you say?” she said quietly. Her tone was impossible to discern.

She mustered up her courage again. “I’m not sorry I murdered you! I mean, I am, but I’m also not. Because—because you’ve always been _awful_ to me, and I don’t know why!”

“That’s bullshit!”

Mikan squeaked at Saionji-san’s outrage. Her chant of _I’m not going to shrink back, I’m going to stand up for myself_ dissipated as years of instinct took over. She cowered, arms half-raised to ward off blows, as the dancer stomped a foot. “That’s total bullshit! You know _exactly_ why! Because you’re always going around, acting pathetic to get attention, and it’s sickening! It’s disgusting!”

 _That doesn’t make it okay!_ She wanted to yell back. _I wanted to be loved but I couldn’t have that, so I settled for cruelty because being ignored was worst of all—but that doesn’t mean I liked it! That doesn’t make the cruelty okay!_

But the insane bout of bravery was gone. She was abandoned with Saionji-san, who was building up steam, like she’d been holding this back for a while. “People like you are the absolute worst! You manipulate others into paying attention to you. You lie about being _‘oh so clumsy’,_ ”—this was said in a mock falsetto—“so you keep having excuses to trip and get in impossibly compromising positions. And you won’t even stand up for yourself! You’re pathetic and I can’t stand to see it!”

The carefully-crafted box of suppressed emotions began to crack. Mikan ducked her head, tears welling up. “I…I’m sorry…”

“See, just like that! There you go again, making such a huge, bothersome fuss even though _nobody else_ is around to look at you! God, your crocodile tears make me sick!”

 _They’re not fake,_ she tried to sob, but she couldn’t. Saionji-san was right. She was manipulative. She did act out and play roles so people would look at her. She’d done it as Ultimate Despair, too. She was clever, Mikan was, far cleverer than people gave her credit for. It was _so easy_ to play the part of the kindly nurse, or the innocent young woman, or the easy victim, _so easy_ to isolate and lure away her targets. Drugging and kidnapping them was sometimes harder, depending on the situation and who she’d picked out, but she always pulled through. And then, when they woke up, she would spend _hours_ toying with them—

Oh god, it was coming back. There was sadness and hurt welling up, and soon it would explode into despair, and she would start again—

“Mikan-chan? Mikan-chan!” Voices. Footsteps. Things she recognized but didn’t _comprehend._ Her friends were coming to help her. Wild, reckless fear swelled in her. No, no, they needed to stay away from her. Enoshima-sama’s influence was supposed to be _gone_ but it was still there, Mikan could feel it. This was a trap. She was lying and any minute she’d slip back into despair and kill them, she was certain of it—

Hands grasped her shoulders, warm and soothing, and she wanted to sob, throw them off. Whoever it was shouldn’t be contaminated by touching a filthy, murdering, manipulative _thing_ like her. “Tsumiki-san! Are you alright?”

“Get away!” she gasped. “O-Oh, please, get away, I—I don’t want to hurt you!”

A different hand took her wrist, pressing over her pulse point. “Profuse sweating, shallow breaths, elevated heart rate, fear…she’s having a panic attack.” Cool, logical, and masculine—that could only be Hinata-san. He could stop her. He could stop her!

She grabbed at him, babbling incoherently. “P-Please, you need to stop me! I’m going to hurt people again! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

The next voice was reedy and high with stress; Soda-san. “Saionji, what did you do?”

“I—” Saionji-san’s voice was shaking. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“What _did_ you mean?!” That sounded like the Imposter. “No, actually, I don’t care. Just shut up while we help her.”

“Is—is she going to be—”

“Hiyoko-chan…I think you should listen to them.”

If the discussion continued after that, Mikan couldn’t tell. There was too much noise in the background, more voices rising and falling, all blending together like ice cream melting in summer. The only concrete thing was Hinata-san’s shirt, gripped tightly in her fingers. Everything else was spinning.

“Tsumiki,” Hinata-san said slowly, carefully. “Breathe. Hold it for four seconds, then let it out.”

Breathe? _Breathe?_ She would have laughed if she could. That was funny! As if she could _breathe_ , as if she could act like everything was—

“Breathe,” he repeated, firmer and louder. There was a layer of authority in his voice, the kind that Sonia-san sometimes had. It compelled her to obey.

Mikan only got to two seconds before she broke. She gasped, “B-But I’m going to slip up, I’m going to fall back into despair—”

“That won’t happen.”

“That’s right.” She recognized the Imposter’s thick fingers and fleshy wrists as he gently pried her hands lose from Hinata-san. He didn’t let go, continuing soothingly, “There’s nothing to be afraid of. _She_ can’t make us do anything anymore. You won’t lose control.”

“I’m manipulative!” she hiccupped. “Even if Enoshima-sama doesn’t make me, I’ll do it myself.” _I’m already falling back into addressing her with the honorific…_

“No, you’re not. And you won’t, I promise. We’re all here, and we’ll help you.”

And they did, telling her to breathe and promising this would pass and reassuring her she wasn’t going to fall back into despair. They stayed with her and told her this, over and over, until the terrible claws constricting her chest slowly withdrew. Once, Mikan caught a glimpse of Saionji-san’s face, looking stricken, before she squeezed her eyes shut and turned away.

* * *

“Here you go.”

A plate of food was placed down on her covers. It was afternoon of the same day, and she was finally alone. The Imposter had brought her back to her cottage and stayed a while, fussing over her; then Hanamura-san had dropped by with a newly-made breakfast. After that, Hinata-san had arrived to give her—well, Sonia-san was right. She hesitated to call it therapy. She hadn’t been able to tell him anything about why she’d panicked so hard, or her fears; it was too raw. Instead she just cried and gasped and he let her get those last stray emotions out of her system.

Mikan slowly sat up, moving her legs so she could rest the plate on them. Her lunch consisted of a sandwich, some fruit, and water; she picked up an apple slice and turned it over absently.

Across from her, Koizumi-san fiddled with her camera strap. “Hiyoko-chan’s worried about you.”

“I don’t want to see her.”

“Alright.” The redhead hesitated, then suddenly bowed. “I’m sorry. I’m her best friend, and I should have tried to stop her. I know none of us did, but I’m the worst of all. I’d stand up for her, but not for you, even though you’re my friend too.”

“I-It’s fine. It’s not worth intervening for someone like me…”

“Yes it is!” She yelped at Koizumi-san’s tormented shout, dropping the fruit. The photographer’s hands were clenched, shaking; slowly, one rose and pressed over her heart. Koizumi-san looked down. “It is, and I should have. I don’t know why I didn’t, and I’m just…I’m so ashamed you had to have a panic attack for…”

She stopped. Swallowed. Her eyes glistened. “I’m sorry.”

 _Oh no, she can’t be crying over me! I shouldn’t make her cry!_ Mikan hurriedly put her food aside and stumbled to her feet. She almost tripped over the sheets, but—no, this wasn’t time for that! She couldn’t let Koizumi-san feel so upset over her worthless self! “Don’t cry! I n-never blamed you, or anyone else! It was enough th-that you guys would even spend time with me...”

“But still…! I should have…!”

And suddenly, Koizumi-san was crying. It was different than how Mikan cried; quiet and sad, with little hiccups. Mikan hesitated, torn between the yearning to comfort and her surety that no one would want to be touched by someone as disgusting as her. Instead, she hovered, hands fluttering around, mumbling “It’s okay…I forgive you…I forgive you…”

Soon, Koizumi-san’s sniffles came to an end. She raised her head. “Hah…I came here to apologize, and I ended up being the one comforted…”

“Well, I think everyone is really emotional right now…s-so it’s not surprising…”

“Yeah, we are.” Koizumi-san took a deep breath and swiped at her eyes one last time. When her hand came away, her face was steeled with resolve. “I’ll talk to Hiyoko-chan. I know Hinata has some choice words for her, but…she can be stubborn. She might not listen to him, but she’ll listen to me.”

* * *

Mikan didn’t really expect much to come from an intervention. Saionji-san had been acting this way for as long as she’d known her, and she deserved it. Nothing was going to change.

The rest of that day passed slowly. Mikan did her chores. She hung out with the Imposter and Mioda-san. She followed through on her promise to Hinata-san, taking a look at Komaeda-san’s arm and discussing the build with him and Soda-san. She looked through the pharmacy. The next day followed a similar pattern, with the deviation of Hinata-san announcing at dinner that the World Destroyer predicted Nidai-san would awaken sometime tomorrow, to cheers.

The day Nidai-san was to wake up, Mikan herself was woken by knocking on her door. Still half-asleep, she grumbled and buried her face in her pillow, hoping it would go away.

The knocking came louder. Cognition finally clicked, and fear spiked through her. Knocking meant someone had some business with her. It was rude to make people wait. Especially for someone like her! Hastily, she ripped off her covers, yelping as she tripped—genuinely, this time. Mikan pushed herself back to her feet and scrambled to the door, yanking it open.

“I’m sorry for—”

She stopped. Saionji-san was there, a contrite expression on her face. It was the first time they’d been alone together since the panic attack. Mikan had occasionally seen her around, especially at meals, but Saionji-san had seemed…oddly subdued, not speaking or even looking up.

“Can I come in?”

Mikan’s fingers tightened around her doorknob. “Whu…What for?”

“I just…” The other woman hunched her shoulders and cast a glance down. Her hands rose, hovering at chest level, and stayed there like they weren’t sure what to do with themselves. Suddenly, Saionji-san looked _small_. “I wanted to say something. About the other day.”

Her behavior was so bizarre that before she knew it, Mikan was saying, “Okay…” and opening the door.

 _Well, what else can I do?_ Any defiance would be repaid vehemently; the ‘other day’ had proved that. Best to get this over with.

Saionji-san stepped inside, but still, she hesitated. She gathered the ends of her ponytail in her hands and twisted it over and over, seeming to search for words. Finally, she blurted, “Look, you wanna know why I was always so mean to you? It’s because I always thought you were acting out for attention. I can’t stand people who deceive others.”

Misery swam in Mikan’s stomach. Saionji-san had her nailed to a T, and she was perfectly well within her rights to call her on it. But still, a small part of her, one infuriated by the years of abuse—not just from Saionji-san, but from all her other bullies—rebelled against it. _That’s not fair! That’s not a reason! That’s—_

“But also because…you reminded me of myself.”

Jerked from her thoughts, Mikan gaped. She must have misheard, surely. There was no way Saionji-san had something in common with someone like her. “Huh?”

“I…also used to get tormented. I was helpless and weak and I couldn’t do anything about it. I hate being reminded about that pathetic little girl, so I took it out on you.” Saionji-san crossed her arms and looked away. “…And it was wrong of me. Especially because we’re classmates. That kind of bond is something to be treasured…that’s what Yukizome-sensei and Nanami-onee taught us. So…”

And then, to Mikan’s shock, the blonde took a deep breath, kneeled, and performed a perfect dogeza. “I’m sorry.”

Mikan pinched herself. She was dreaming. She had to be. There was absolutely no world in which Saionji Hiyoko would ever apologize to trash like her.

Her skin stung. She did not wake up. “W…What…?”

“I said I’m sorry!” Saionji-san snapped. Though Mikan couldn’t see her face, she imagined it was growing red with self-consciousness. “I’m only gonna say this once, so just listen. All that stuff you were saying, about hurting us? It’s so untrue. You had to be infected with some crazy disease to kill me, the person who tormented you. You have no reason to worry about falling back into despair. And I’m sorry I made you feel that way, and for everything else, too.”

Mikan suddenly, inanely, became aware of the fact she was still in her pajamas. She hadn’t brushed her hair or her teeth. She probably needed a shower. And Saionji Hiyoko was _apologizing_ to her. This entire scenario was too unreal, too fantastic, too surreal, to be true. Unless—a thought struck her, horrible yet perfectly sensible. “I-Is this some kind of joke, Saionji-san? It is, isn’t it? Any moment now, you’re going to laugh and taunt me, aren’t you…?”

“Would I _perform_ a dogeza for a joke?” Despite the irritation in her voice, she did not move from the position. “Look, don’t expect me to be all hand-holding and singing ‘kumbaya’ from now on. That’s just not the kind of person I am. But…I’ll work to cut out the bullying.”

Was it…was it possible? Was Saionji-san really serious?

It seemed like it. Mikan had no idea what to say.

She tried to card through her feelings. They were similar to when she’d first woken up. Care, because they _were classmates_. A little touched. Hurt and sadness and anger over how she’d been treated. But the apology—it felt like a balm to those negative emotions. They weren’t _gone_ , but they were lesser.

She swallowed. “I…I accept your apology for the other day. For the rest of it…I want to forgive you, Saionji-san, but it still hurts. B-But I’ll try…! I’ll try to heal from it, s-so I can forgive you wholly.”

Slowly, the dancer rose, her knees popping. She looked disappointed, but not surprised. “I guess that’s the best I can ask for. Thanks, pig barf.”

Mikan flinched, confusion and hurt blunting her joy. “I thought you said…”

Common sense kicked in. She immediately felt stupid. Tears stung her eyes. _I knew it…I knew it was just some prank…or maybe she’s punishing me because I didn’t completely forgive her…_

“H-Hey, don’t start crying again! Pig barf is practically a nickname by now. That’s me being _nice_.” But her eyes still nervously flitted over her, like to check if it really had upset Mikan.

The veiled concern stopped her tears short. _Is…Is she really worried about it?_ Assuming she was…how did Mikan feel? She _had_ been called ‘pig barf’ so much that it’d lost pretty much all sting. On the other hand…it still carried too many negative connotations for her to be comfortable with it. Did she dare…?

Mustering up her courage, Mikan sniffed and wiped her face one last time. “I…I would prefer…not to be called it anymore…”

“Well, breaking that habit’s gonna be hard,” the blonde grumbled. “Demanding much?  No, stop looking sad! That wasn’t…”

She sighed, shoulders slumping. “Ugh, this whole thing is gonna be a pain…but I’m no quitter. I meant everything I said.”

And then Saionji-san had to try placating her _again_ as the tears came back for the umpteenth time. Mikan couldn’t help it. She was just—this was too much. An apology? A potential for the bullying to stop? It was more than she deserved, more than she’d ever expected. Her heart felt like it was full of rainbows and sugar and all the nice things in the world.

Even if this was just some temporary insanity on Saionji-san’s part—which it had to be—it was still so, so wonderful.

* * *

It wasn’t. Insanity, that was. Saonji-san was actually serious, which she proved time and again.

Change wasn’t _easy_ , of course. Saionji-san hadn’t been lying when she said it was going to be hard for her to stop being so…so _mean_. Her tongue was just too used to throwing venom. She tried to monitor it, but she would often fall back into habit and use her words as whips. More than once she slipped up and called Mikan “pig barf”. Even her jokes were in poor taste.

But.

She apologized for them, in her own way. Maybe not right away, maybe in an aloof manner, but she did apologize. And kindness became more common, appreciation and compliments and offers of help leaving her lips easier than before. Gradually, the barbs became less pointed, the apologies less bitchy. The first time Saionji-san thanked— _thanked_ her!—Mikan burst into tears. And the second, and third, and fourth. Each time, she couldn’t believe it. Saionji-san was actually being _affable,_ almost, and while she was still haughty, the cruelty was disappearing bit by bit.

There was still a long road ahead of her, and Mikan too. She personally thought it’d be years before Saionji-san could settle into something like Hinata-san’s brand of snark, while Mikan didn’t even have an inkling of when she would be ready to fully forgive her.

But they were both trying, and that had to be worth something, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Trying to figure out how the NWP works gives me a headache. By all accounts going into it should give everyone muscle deterioration, BUT I think Miaya would try to account for that, since patients wouldn’t be happy being told “yeah I can help with trauma, but you’ll have to go to physical therapy for a while in exchange”.
> 
> I’m gonna be honest, I hate Hiyoko. I hate bullies. I hate that SDR2 never called her out on it, I hate how little she did or grew, and I hate that even when the game tries to make her sympathetic (like her FTEs) her terrible behavior pretty much undermines it. DR3 kind of helped, but insisting that she cares for Mikan deep down while still treating her terribly isn’t much of a step up, in my book.
> 
> So this is basically catharsis for me. Call Hiyoko on her bullying, give her a solid resolution to change, and put her on the path to reconciliation. I think she’d fall on the “long time to change” side of the cast (which includes Mikan and Nagito) because her behavior is very ingrained and very harmful, so it was only just the beginning I showed.


	6. Dispel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I had two ideas for the subject of 'Hajime and Chiaki deal with nightmares', and liked them both, so I put them both in the chapter. They’re connected thematically, but they aren’t concurrent. Think of them as a two-in-one-deal.

Chiaki felt, all things considered, she was an average sleeper. Not too light, not too heavy. She had a habit of sleeping _in_ , but that came from too many nights of staying up late, cozy under bedcovers as she tapped away at some video game. She was also pretty good at _falling_ asleep, despite whatever background noises or lights there might be—again, something she’d picked up from all that time gaming. She hadn’t always been able to turn them off before her eyes started drooping shut.

 _Staying_ asleep, well, that depended, really. While she didn’t have much trouble drifting off, whatever else was going on, her brain decided it wanted to be sensitive to changes in noise when she was asleep. Hearing that a sound in the background had stopped could wake her the same as a sudden clap of thunder. Alarm clocks dealt super effective damage—they were so _loud_ and _irritating_ —so she usually got up on time. But if she was really tired, she might sleep through them, or other strange noises.

All things considered, it wasn’t a surprise when, as she was piloting her starship through space, the sound of rustling pulled her awake. It was sudden and jarring, like stubbing your toe. The dream persisted for a few more moments, the ship’s controls still solid under her hands, before it slowly began melting away.

Finally, wakefulness prickled at her mind. Chiaki kept her eyes squeezed shut, hoping somehow she could fall back to sleep pretty quickly. The dream had been so nice…she and her classmates had all been a part of the Cornerian Defense Force. Fully animal and everything. She’d been a tiger, fierce and strong, enjoying the thrill of flying through the stars…Hajime had been her right-hand man…

Her eyes stayed closed, but her brow furrowed.

_Hajime…_

Something was strange. Somehow…she felt cold, and wrong.

What was it…?

She couldn’t feel him. That was it. He’d gone to sleep with an arm slung around her shoulders, and now it wasn’t there.

And that sound that had woken her up… It was like someone was frequently moving. It was coming not from the other side of the room, but from…right next to her?

_Hajime?_

Alarm burned away her sleepiness. In his sleep, Hajime was…silent. Still. She’d never woken up _before_ him, but she sometimes stayed up later than him, keeping the lights and sound off to not bother him. At those times, she’d noticed as long as he _was_ asleep, he didn’t make a peep or move a muscle. For him to have moved away, and to still _be_ moving…something was definitely wrong.

She lifted her head and squinted through the darkness. He was tossing and turning, rolling from one side to the other to his back, breath coming in fast and ragged. He wasn’t saying a word, but one look at the grimace on his face told Chiaki what she needed to know.

_He’s having a nightmare…?_

He’d _told_ her that he got them, early on. Since they would be sharing a bed…he’d wanted to warn her, so she wouldn’t be startled. Still…even after hearing from his own mouth…it was still surprising to actually see. She’d always kind of assumed he was impervious to them—in all her time with Izuru, he’d never betrayed a hint he had them, and he was so apathetic there was no reason to believe he did.

But that detachment would apply to nightmares too, wouldn’t it? If he’d ever had them, he’d probably dealt with them on his own. He’d probably thought there was no point talking about them if they weren’t a problem, too…

Well, either way, she knew he had them now. In dating sims, if your chosen love interest had a nightmare, you could almost always shake them awake without harm. Then there would be confessions of dark secrets, more accumulated love points, and maybe a cute CGI. Hajime could play that scenario out for her pretty safely, but he’d shaken his head when she’d asked if she should try.

 _“I’m not sure how I’ll react if you try to wake me,”_ he’d told her _. “If I have a violent reaction, I’m so much stronger than you that…well, it’s just safer if you don’t touch me.”_

_“But…will just calling your name really work?”_

_“It should, I’m a light sleeper. Still, if it doesn’t, then_ leave me _. I’d rather endure the nightmare than risk accidentally hurting you.”_

Chiaki took one look at the sweat on his brow, and it immediately destroyed any notion of leaving him alone. She couldn’t bear to see him in distress. Especially not if she could do something about it. Even if she failed, she had to try.

She swallowed to clear her dry throat and spoke in a clear, calm voice. “Hajime? Hajime, wake up.”

He suddenly stilled, and she knew he was awake, just like that. Relief flowed through her. His eyes opened, bi-colored irises gleaming in the dark. “Did I wake you?” His voice was deep and hoarse. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She sat up on one elbow. “Are you alright? It looked like you were having a nightmare…”

He grimaced. “I was.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Instead of responding, he reached out, pulling her close. He pressed his face into her shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. _He’s shaking…_ Feeling helpless, Chiaki stroked his hair. “Hey, it’s okay…if you don’t want to, that’s fine—”

“You died.” The words were short and curt, rushed out like they were poisonous. Chiaki felt his eyelashes flutter, heard his throat catch. “In my nightmare. You were bleeding out again, and I tried to help you, but my limbs…they just wouldn’t move.”

 _Oh, my love…_ “Izuru, shh. It’s okay. That’s not what happened.”

“It wasn’t the past. It was the future.” He stopped, breath catching. Her heart twisted at his pain, and Chiaki patted his back, gently encouraging him. To stop, or to go on—whichever he needed.

After a moment, Hajime resumed talking. “Then I looked around, and realized it wasn’t just you. The rest of our friends were dying too, begging me to help them, and I still couldn’t move. The Tragedy was all around me, but I knew somehow, this time I’d caused it.

“Then _she_ showed up.” He spat _she_ , and anger on his behalf flared in Chiaki’s chest. Even when she was dead, Enoshima could never leave them alone, could she? “She told me this was inevitable, that someday I’d end up just like her. One day, I’d be swallowed up by boredom and despair, and then even if I wanted to help…I wouldn’t.”

“ _No_ ,” she stressed, pulling away so she could see him. She cradled his face in her hands, forced him to look in her eyes. “No, you’re stronger and better than her, so much. You’ve never done anything like what she did.”

“No. I just _let_ her do them.”

“Hey. Hey, listen to me.” Chiaki ran her thumbs across his cheeks. “You were at your lowest. You’d been lobotomized and treated like a tool, you had no memories…you had _nothing_. You let her do terrible things, but had anyone given you a reason to do otherwise?”

“You did. You showed hope to me. You—Chiaki, you made me _feel._ You made me _cry_. Did I ever tell you that?”

He actually hadn’t, and a warm sort of pride filled her, because she knew he was talking about when he was just Izuru, not when they’d reunited. But she couldn’t revel in it, for he was continuing his self-deprecation. “But instead of just—accepting hope, I decided I should ‘test’ it, and because of that…because of that, I let people suffer. I risked your friends, the whole world…”

“Izuru…give yourself more credit. Yes, you weren’t a good person, but you weren’t a bad one either. You had every reason to become a monster like her, but you didn’t. You didn’t revel in despair. You tried hope. You _saved_ me. You, at your lowest, were miles better than her at her best.”

He stared at her silently as she continued, releasing his face and taking his hands, “And you’re not at your lowest anymore. You have all your memories, and me, and everyone here on Jabberwock, and even the survivors of Class 78. That’s why I’m completely certain you would _never_ end up like her.”

He was still staring. He was silent for so long that Chiaki started to worry she’d said something wrong. But just as she was about to open her mouth again, a shaky exhale left his. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Pleased that she’d helped, Chiaki beamed. “Yeah, no problem. Do you feel better?”

“Mostly.”

“Oh…” She’d been hoping for 100% success. She couldn’t resist pouting. “Is there anything else I can do?”

He chuffed lightly. “Ah, don’t look so disappointed…you helped a lot, really. Just stay with me. That’s all I want now.”

“Always.” And they both went quiet, Chiaki working her thumbs over his knuckles and planting little kisses on his face. She worried it wasn’t enough, but it seemed to be working; she could see the tension draining out of his body, hear his breathing settle.  The corner of his mouth twitched up slightly when her lips brushed them, and he turned, catching her mouth fully.

There wasn’t any heat in the kiss. It was slow, almost melancholic but also grateful. A giving of comfort. When they separated, Chiaki tenderly murmured, “I love you, you know. All of you.”

He closed his eyes, a peaceful expression crossing his face. “I know. I love you too.”

Finally, she released his hands, holding her arms open, and he sank into them. Chiaki knew this was the first time of many he would need her like this. Just like she knew there would be times she’d need him.

She couldn’t protect him from his nightmares, and he couldn’t protect her from hers, but they would both be there for the aftermath. And that was enough.

* * *

Hajime never used to be a light sleeper, but like many other things, the Kamukura Project had changed that. The extensive surgeries and alterations meant that even slight changes in his environment disturbed his senses. Fortunately, he also needed less sleep than normal—again thanks to the project—and between that and knowing techniques to quickly fall back to sleep, he was always able to wake up refreshed. And it was useful to, say, easily detect spikes in noise level if you wandered through a post-apocalyptic world full of danger, or napped in the same room as the machines monitoring your comatose beloved’s health.

But then there were mundane benefits, ones those talent-obsessed scientists had never considered. Needing less sleep meant that he was up earlier, and always up before Chiaki. And her dreaming was one of the most precious sights in the world. She made a lot of interesting expressions in her sleep. Even when she was still, when her face was undisturbed and peaceful, she was just so…cute.

Yes, even the way she drooled a little; it was one of _her_ little quirks and seeing it meant she was _here_. Most of the time, he stayed in bed, ignoring the sandpaper taste in his mouth screaming to get a drink of water already, just so he could watch her.

Chiaki was a peaceful sleeper. Except when she wasn’t.

And here was another benefit to being a light sleeper—he easily woke whenever Chiaki had a nightmare. Hajime was truly glad for that, that he could be there to rouse her. If she got violent, he was strong enough and skilled enough to keep them both safe. If she didn’t, he’d pull her close and stroke her hair and call her name. He never wanted her to go through them by herself again.

This night, as a sob woke him, it seemed no different. Sleep banished instantly, Hajime’s eyes snapped open. Chiaki was twisting in bed, kicking the covers off. Her expression was pained, contorted, her breathing erratic. Whimpers and pleas escaped her mouth. “No…please, don’t…”

“Chiaki,” he said, shaking her lightly. “It’s okay. You’re safe. Wake up.”

He had to repeat his words and motions a few more times before she did. Chiaki came to with a gasp, sweat and tears mingling on her face. She looked around wildly, panicked, still not completely aware. “Hajime! Izuru? W-Where—”

“I’m right here.”

She turned towards his voice, and it was like a switch had been flicked. Her eyes suddenly lit with recognition, and she became very still. Chiaki stared for a moment with a frantic expression, then suddenly lunged forward and pressed her face into his chest. More muffled sobs escaped.

Hajime wrapped his arms around her, alarm stirring when he noticed how badly she was trembling, how tight her grip on him was. Crying and seeking touch was normal when she was upset, but to this extreme? It was closer to when she’d first regained her memories or been triggered by the elevator. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

For some reason, that just made her cry harder. Frowning slightly, Hajime altered his tactics. “Hey. Hey, it’s over. You’re safe, okay? You’re safe.”

He kept this up, cycling through various reassuring phrases. Gradually, her weeping slowed down. First it trailed off into little hiccups. Then those hiccups trailed off into just sniffs, and then those too disappeared.

As she quieted, Hajime analyzed everything he knew. Chiaki had had a more adverse reaction than usual to her nightmare, and had responded abnormally to certain verbalities. Anything along the lines of ‘I’m here’ had upset her more, yet everything else had drawn no adversity or calmed her a little. The probability of these two facts being linked was high.

Several hypotheses were drawn up. The first, that this nightmare she’d had was new and had shaken her so much, it threw off her usual responses. The second, that this nightmare was _not_ new, but merely unknown to him, and what he thought was a strong response was actually the norm for it specifically. The third, that either way, this nightmare tied back to him, and reminding her of his presence reminded her of the nightmare.

He knew perhaps it wasn’t as bad as it sounded. Perhaps something in his behavior made her upset or afraid, and her subconscious had dug it up. While unpleasant, it was something that could be quickly resolved, and it was far better than the other possibility, the one that truly discomforted him:

That she’d had a nightmare about what he could do, about what he had done, about _him_.

He knew it was preposterous. He knew Chiaki had never been scared of him, even when she’d first woken up in a strange world with a stranger man. But that had also been before she’d known what he’d done in the Neo World Program. Perhaps that had permanently altered her perception of him on a subconscious level, even if she’d forgiven him.

 _She wanted to hug you,_ he reminded himself even as his stomach churned. _She immediately went to you. That’s clearly contradictory, if her nightmare revolved around you in a frightening light._

…Perhaps it was about him dying? That seemed logical, and the tight coil in his chest loosened a little.

When he calculated she was calm and able to talk, Hajime pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “That sounded worse than usual.”

“…Yeah. It was.”

Gently, he pushed, “Was it about me?”

She gave a guilty little start against his chest. Her eyes darted up to him, then away. She looked spooked, trapped; she knew by now that he would catch a direct lie. Half-truths didn’t _quite_ ring as false to him, but he could usually tell something was off or being held back. Whether he called her on any of this or not, well, that was another matter.

But it was possible he’d pushed harder than he meant. His voice became tender. “Chiaki…whatever’s bothering you, I promise I won’t be upset. If you want me drop this, say the word and I will. But if there’s anything I can do…”

Chiaki bit her lip. “…It’s gonna hurt your feelings if I tell you.”

 _There goes the hypothesis it was about me dying._ His stomach, once churning, now felt leaden, weighed down by a dozen stones. “I’ll be fine. Please…let me help you.”

She didn’t respond. Hajime swallowed, and hoping to provide just a little comfort, began smoothing her hair. He listened to her breathing even.

_In…out…_

_In…out…_

_In…out…_

_In—_

“Everyone left me.”

Her voice was small, sad. The sound of it, the enormity of her words, felt like blows to his chest. But Hajime was quiet. That wasn’t the worst of it, he could sense. Chiaki lifted her head, staring at him with haunted eyes. “That was my nightmare. Everyone just got on a boat and left me here alone. And you…”

She stopped a moment. “You told me…I’d only have to wait a little bit.”

Guilt was a familiar, bitter taste in his mouth. “Oh, Chiaki…”

“But it wasn’t a little bit. It was forever. I waited and waited and I realized _no one_ was coming back. That’d you’d all abandoned me...”

God, she sounded so _choked,_ so broken. Hajime sorely wished he could punch both his past selves in the face. That he could kill Enoshima before she ever started the Tragedy. That he could reach inside Chiaki, find the knot of nerves and emotions that made up her fear, and untangle it. All this talent was _useless_ when it came to what hurt her the most—the past.

But, the future? Fear of the future? Those were things he _could_ handle. He cupped her face, urging it towards him. “We won’t leave you. _I_ won’t leave you.”

“I know,” she hurried. “I know you wouldn’t, willingly, but what if—what if something happens? What if I’m too weak again, or make the wrong call again—”

“Chiaki—”

“I mean, if I’d been a better friend, or a better class rep, maybe I wouldn’t have lost y—”

“ _Chiaki_.” The way he said her name, tender and warm, caught her attention; she quieted, blinking several times in succession. Her eyes were wet again. Hajime reached up and wiped the budding tears away. “You were the best friend I—either of me—could have had. I’m the one who didn’t listen. And you’ve learned from your past mistakes, you won’t repeat them.”

Her voice was a whisper. “But what if I still lose you anyway?”

“You won’t. Not just because I’m the Ultimate Hope. Not just because of my talents. But because of who _I_ am. I won’t _let_ anything separate us ever again.”

Some of the desperate misery seemed to be draining from her face. He pressed on, “And none of our friends would let that happen, either. They would fight to stay, and they wouldn’t leave. And you know, if you just try—”

“—things will work out okay,” she finished in unison. The skin around Chiaki’s eyes crinkled as she finally smiled. “Yeah. I know.”

He smiled back at her, then kissed her forehead. “Feel any better?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Good. Because I love you, and I won’t abandon you again. I want you to know that.”

“I love you too. And I do.”

She tucked her head under his chin and curled into his body, and god she felt so small. Fragile. It was a deception in some ways, for Chiaki had such a strong soul, so much stronger than even she realized. In others, it reflected her helplessness against her demons, and Hajime cursed his contributions to them. She was the most precious person to him, yet _he’d_ been among those who’d wounded her heart.

“…I _am_ sorry—”

“I’ve already forgiven you,” she interrupted. “Just stay with me.”

That, he was glad to do. “You never need to ask that.”

It was a good thing he liked watching her sleep, Hajime reflected as Chiaki closed her eyes, because after what he’d just learned, he was more resolved than ever to keep doing it. Because it was all he could do, right? He couldn’t stop her nightmares, or even just this one, no matter what he promised.

But he could be there when she woke up. Whether she woke up in tears or from a full night’s rest, he’d be there. He’d repeat his words and actions over and over. He’d ensure she never again woke up feeling abandoned and alone, and that she never again _felt_ abandoned and alone.

And if he had to wait hours for her to wake up, then even if boredom shrieked in the back of his head for all those hours, he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know that, even though this one-shot collection is post-OTP relationship, we've mostly only seen them from outsider perspectives. I actually have a lot of ideas for them, I just have trouble picking which ones to flesh out. Part of it's because I want each chapter of Expansion Pack--not just theirs--to give some form of development or depth to the people involved. I've wanted to show more of Chiaki's previously-hinted abandonment issue for a while now, as well as explore post-NWP and Extra Life Hajizuru more (it's been a while since I got into his head, haha), so this chapter was the result.


	7. Avatar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I was pretty nervous about posting this, since while Miaya has cerebral palsy in Extra Life, she’s not in focus like she is here. I did a bunch of research, but as usual if I’ve written anything wrong, please let me know.

Spastic diplegia.

Miaya knew what those words meant long before she knew what words _were._ They were passed around between the doctors and her mother, between her physical therapist and her mother, and between her mother and other people, for as long as she could remember. ‘Spastic’ was the type of cerebral palsy—another set of words she grew up with—she had, and ‘diplegia’ meant she couldn’t use her legs.

Well, not quite. Despite what you might think being in a wheelchair implied, she _could_ walk—but it hurt _so much_ that she just _didn’t_. Things like cleaning her room were hard without help. But her arms were fine, so she could at least feed herself, and write, and push her own chair around. It meant that Ikeda-san, her personal care assistant, only had to help with housework and didn’t have to follow her everywhere.

Or at least, she wasn’t supposed to. Even though Miaya was in elementary school and all the other kids could walk to and from school by themselves, Mom insisted Ikeda-san go with her. “I just want you to be safe,” she’d fret in the mornings, stooping to kiss Miaya goodbye before running off to work.

It hurt, a little, that Mom didn’t think she could handle something as simple as going to school. She knew it wasn’t because Mom thought she was _incompetent_ —Mom was always the first to get angry if she ever heard anyone comment about how Miaya’d never succeed because she was in a wheelchair. And she was always encouraging her daughter to chase her dreams. She was just overprotective.

But, when Miaya wasn’t feeling embarrassed about all the stares at the poor cripple girl who couldn’t even go outside on her own, she could understand why. She worried about Mom too—Mom, who was accident-prone and flighty. Mom, who looked so scared at the thought of something happening to her that Miaya took _extra_ care of herself so she wouldn’t worry. Mom, who had to work because there was no Dad around to do that or to look after Miaya. He’d been in the Japan Ground Self-Defense Force and died while doing his duty, when she was just a baby.

Miaya sometimes asked about him, but it was more out of respect than any sense of loss. She…well, she missed the _concept_ of a dad, rather than her actual dad, if that made sense. Sometimes she’d visit the little shrine they had to him in their house, study his portrait and try to see her face in his. Other times she’d try to imagine having a dad, but she could never quite envision what it’d be like. It was like trying to make a puzzle piece fit in the wrong spot.

Still, even though they were on their own…things weren’t as hard as they could have been. Mom being a widow meant she got quite a bit of benefits and tax deductions. Even though she had to work a lot, they were well off. And they had a great relationship—Mom apologized frequently for not being able to spend more time with Miaya. She always handmade her bento boxes and included little love notes inside. Whenever she did have the time, mother and daughter would spend the entire day together, watching _Sailor Moon_ (their mutual favorite anime) or going to the local park or just being silly.

In fact, being silly was the only personality trait they had in common. They were opposite as night and day. Miaya was thoughtful, scholarly, reserved; she only showed that side of her when she was relaxed. Mom was very much a social butterfly; she loved to talk and she always overshared. It wasn’t uncommon for Miaya to hear her complimenting a passerby on something and then striking up a conversation like they were old friends. A complete stranger! Miaya couldn’t even talk without her stuffed rabbit, Usami-chan!

Well, she could talk to her mom, Ikeda-san, and her physical therapist, but to everyone else? No. And even with Usami-chan, she didn’t talk much. Most of the time, she just didn’t have anything to say.

But the other children talked to her. It was pity, she knew, because she was in a wheelchair and couldn’t play the same games as them, and that irritated her. Sometimes they talked to her like she was dumb, crouching and talking in exaggerated slow tones, and that irritated her even more.

 _I’m not dumb!_ She wanted to yell. _Just because something’s wrong with my body doesn’t mean something’s wrong with my mind!_

But she wasn’t like Mom, who never failed to give strangers a piece of her mind when she saw their sad, pitying glances. She didn’t have that kind of courage. All Miaya did was suck in a breath and endure it, because the alternative—the alternative meant showing who she was. Showing that the quiet, honor-roll student also daydreamed about being a magical girl. And what if they didn’t like that girl? Pity was better than that.

It was safer, being the quiet, disabled kid in her class.

* * *

Still, for all Miaya’s annoyance at the exaggerated special treatment, she was naturally sensitive. And because she was quiet, she was observant _._ She saw Mai-chan scowling at her mother, or how red Isamu-kun’s eyes were after random trips to the bathroom, or Etsuko-chan flinching at every raised voice. She saw, and it tugged her heartstrings—and one day, she decided she just had to do something about it.

She spoke to her physical therapist, a big but gentle man with a melodic voice, because she was a child and she knew “therapy” meant “help people”. Her therapist told her he didn’t help people the way she wanted to, but offered to speak with a friend who did. And that friend gave him the names of books, which he gave to Miaya—books for beginners, introductions to therapy. And thus, while Mom was at work, Ikeda-san escorted Miaya to the bookstore to purchase them.

No one thought anything strange of it—well, the clerk gave her a skeptical look, but she knew it was because of her disability, not her age. This was, after all, a world where children could excel, could become teenage Ultimates. Encouraging the interests of the young was common.

And when she opened that first book and started reading…she was just hooked. Miaya had always been smart, and studious too; books were good companions. In these, there were a lot of things made _sense,_ and there were some that didn’t, and instead of discouraging her it made her want to know _more._ Therapy was _interesting_. The more she read, the more her eagerness built.

She didn’t have to be the shy, pathetic girl. With this, she could really help people. She could be like a superhero, or a magical girl—her true identity unknown, hidden beneath the guise of Usami-chan! And _everybody_ knew magical girls needs special outfits.

So when Miaya rolled into class the next day, Usami-chan was with her like usual, but dressed in a pink magical girl uniform, a plastic magical girl wand taped to her paw. She was one of the first, as usual, and the few other classmates scattered around looked sleepy and bored. Miaya took a deep breath, straightened Usami-chan’s wand, and rolled forward.

That day, she learned Mai-chan hadn’t done her homework because she was deliberately disobeying her dad. When she asked why, Mai-chan had shut down, but an apology and promise to listen if she ever needed to talk again in the future seemed to make up for it. Then Miaya, feeling tentatively good, rolled away to speak with Isamu-kun. From _him_ she didn’t get much, but he did say her idea was ‘kinda cool, I guess’. Delight and confidence built; she went to the next, and the next, and then the teacher showed up to start homeroom. But Miaya was satisfied. More than satisfied, delighted. The persona of Magical Miracle Girl Usami-chan was like a new glove; an awkward fit at first, but the more she wiggled her fingers, the more comfortable it had become.

And through time, more talks, and support, Miaya was eventually able to learn that Mai-chan’s mom wasn’t _really_ her mom, but her _stepmom_ , and she hated her for replacing her real mother; that Isamu-kun’s big brother was dying of something called ‘cancer’ and it terrified him; that Etsuko-chan’s parents fought _all the time_ and sometimes yelled at her too. She listened to all her classmates’ problems, and did the best she could to help.

Sometimes she could help them enough that it helped their home problems—like Mai-chan taking the first step to reconciling with her stepmom. Sometimes she couldn’t—like, she couldn’t make Isamu-kun’s brother stop dying—but she could be an outlet for them to cry to. And because she was there, they felt better. They became…happier? Healthier? Something like that; they just seemed to be a bit brighter in class.

Suddenly, more children wanted to ask for her advice or vent to her. Kids from other classes would rush up to her in the hallways, or during clubs or school activities, and beg for her help. Kids who couldn’t afford a real therapist, or whose parents refused to take them to one, or who didn’t want their parents to know about their problems…those were the kids she spoke to, the kids she helped.

Mom was a fantastic supporter; her initial reaction, when she learned about what Miaya wanted to do, had been to tease, “Now it makes sense why you’re so quiet! Your heart and ears are so big, to always listen to others and want to ease their pains, that you decided talking would get in the way of that!” But after that, she wouldn’t stop telling people how wonderful and considerate her daughter was, posting and advertising on social media that if you needed a therapist, Gekkogahara Miaya was the girl to go to.

As weeks turned to months turned to years, Miaya bought more books about therapy—techniques, terminology, famous therapists, anything she could. She worked up the courage to shadow a professional therapist and study from experts. What she learned there, she carried back to her impromptu clients. Her performance as this ‘kid therapist’ became even better, word spread even more, and the cycle continued. Eventually, (although more in her teenage years) there were even adults who would seek her out.

Ironically, she never once thought to purchase a self-help book for overcoming her shyness. Social interaction was…well, she was fine as long as she was talking through Usami. Especially when she was with patients. Put on that bubbly persona of a silly “magical girl”, who would guide patients to a better future, and she could talk to anyone!

But. It was an act, and it did get tiring after a while. She was a natural introvert, and she _hated_ staring. She’d even run away to escape it. …She still hadn’t overcome the urge to run when strangers talked to her, despite so many of her patients approaching her out of the blue.

Still, as far as she was concerned, she’d found a way that worked for her. So why did anything have to change?

* * *

But, as Miaya got older, talking through Usami stopped being cute. People started side-eying her. Some pointed remarks were made about how it was about time she stopped playing with dolls, much less talking through them. It wasn’t everyone—her clients, people she was closer to, they understood—but it was enough. Their judgment pierced her skin like thousands of tiny needles, flaring her anxiety and fear, and she would clutch Usami to her chest even tighter.

It wasn’t as easy as they said it should be…! It wasn’t even because of her shyness anymore, not entirely! Usami had become part of her image as a therapist. She even had little business cards, which of course made Mom joke about her surprisingly adult teenager, that featured the rabbit. People…they _expected_ to see Usami when they visited her.

A successful teenage therapist was interesting. A successful teenage therapist who talked through a rabbit was so strange, so absurd, so bizarre, it stuck in your mind. She wouldn’t be able to help anyone if they didn’t even know she existed.

But she didn’t have the courage to shout that.

And…Usami was getting worn down. She’d had that rabbit for as long as she could remember, and signs of wear had already popped up. One beady black eye had gotten lost somewhere, the polish on her nose and remaining eye were scuffed, and the once-plush fur was becoming patchy. The threads on the magical girl uniform were becoming undone, little stray threads poking out; only the magical girl stick was in good condition. If Miaya kept carrying her around…it probably wouldn’t be long before Usami fell apart completely, or was damaged beyond repair.

It was a conundrum, and it worried at her all throughout her last semester of middle school. High school was right around the corner, and yet she couldn’t enjoy the feeling of newfound maturity. Couldn’t even be happy that Mom had finally admitted she was being silly by having her teenager be walked to school like a baby and was now letting her go on her own.

It was Ikeda-san who gave her the idea of computer programming. Miaya had been going around, asking a few trusted people what they thought she should do—Mom, her physical therapist—to little avail. Today she’d asked Ikeda-san her opinion while her assistant cleaned her room, dusting off shelves and plugging in the vacuum.  The older woman had listened, nodded thoughtfully, and finally asked, “Have ya thought about an avatar?”

Miaya blinked. “An avatar?”

Ikeda-san nodded again, once, precise. Everything about her was precise; the neat way she folded the covers of Miaya’s bed, the sharp, smooth movements of her arm as she vacuumed the floor, the deft way she stepped around Miaya’s wheelchair. No wasted movements. “My nephews love MMOs. In those games, an avatar is something that represents ya. It doesn’t have to look like ya, or be the same species. They have a lot of fun with character creation, I hear.”

A slight smile was curving her mouth as she spoke of her nephews. Ikeda-san was unmarried, had no children; the only family she ever mentioned were her brother and his sons, who lived over in Nara. She’d moved away years ago, but still retained a slight Kansai drawl. Despite her poise, her salt-and-pepper hair was often loose, and she preferred casual, flower-print skirts and pastel blouses over formal business suits. A country woman in the city, defying the city’s expectations.

“So…an avatar could look like a rabbit?”

“I don’t know how programming works, but yes, I’m sure.”

So Miaya took some programming lessons, and before long, Usami was bouncing around on her laptop’s screen, a little avatar she could speak through. When she took Usami out for the public first test drive, she still got strange looks, but no more than usual. No one said anything about her age, or about being childish. Apparently, a girl talking through a computer was weird, but within acceptable social boundaries for most.

Her clients were all surprised by the change, but happy enough with it. It certainly helped that, because of the avatar, Usami was able to use expressions and body language, which only improved her ability to connect with people. As for the original Usami, she was retired to a proud shelf in Miaya’s bedroom.

* * *

“I’m so glad Ikeda-san is going with you,” Mom said, adjusting Miaya’s scarf as they waited for the subway. The station in Tachikawa was busy, as it always ways at the morning rush hour, people hurrying to get to work. Even though none of them were looking at her, Miaya still felt vaguely nauseous at the thought of all the eyes that could be on her. She didn’t like crowds, not at all. “It’ll be good for you to have a familiar face.”

Miaya’s fingers danced across her keyboard. “Mom,” said Usami, “I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“And I won’t exactly be right with her, Emi-san,” Ikeda-san said politely. Because of Miaya’s disability, the headmaster had made special arrangements for her to stay on campus, but an adult living in the dorms with the students was strictly unethical.

Mom huffed. “Oh, you know what I meant!” Despite her fretting, Mom’s eyes glowed with happy pride. “Hope’s Peak Academy! I always knew you were going to be great, Miaya! I’m so proud!”

Miaya hid her face in her scarf so Mom wouldn’t see her grinning. “Hehe, thank you…I’ll do my best.”

Hope’s Peak Academy…

It seemed that was all anyone could talk about, ever since the scout and letter came. Her clients all congratulated her and told her how she’d earned it, Mom gushed over social media, even people who pitied her looked at her with new respect. To them, going to Hope’s Peak was the best thing that could happen to a person.

To Miaya, that wasn’t quite true.

In the academic journals, there were often articles about one of the Ultimate Therapists before her. Yamasaki Maro. He enjoyed working with the darker side of the mind; criminals, the mentally ill. Miaya didn’t agree with his views on them—he seemed to believe these people were to be studied, not helped—but she had to respect his brilliance. He only took on the difficult cases, and more often than not succeeded. He was well-respected and gave many interviews.

There was one in particular that had stuck out to her, though. The interviewer had asked Yamasaki-san about his recent divorce, the rumors that his ex-wife had thrown a huge fit about his focus on his work. Yamasaki-san had laughed and condescendingly referred to his ex as a woman who simply didn’t understand that, for people like him, work and talent _were_ the most important things in life.

That had struck Miaya as very sad. If work had been more important to Mom than family…so much of Miaya’s life would be so hollow. All those memories they’d made, silly, bad, good, wouldn’t exist. She couldn’t say talent wasn’t important without being a hypocrite; she was, after all, _going_ to Hope’s Peak to hone hers.

But focusing too much on talent meant missing out on life. That was what she believed.

“…Mom, are you really gonna be alright on your own?” They’d always lived together…the thought of Mom in a house, all by herself, with no one to greet her when she came home, made a vice tighten around Miaya’s chest.

“Oh, I’ll be fine. But, ah, to think I’d have such a wonderful, mature daughter who worries about her mother…! That’s my job, you know!”

“It’s mine, too.”

Mom’s smile lost the teasing edge, turning into something gentle and soft. She patted Miaya’s head, but didn’t crouch. She’d never crouched. “Well, now your job is to do the best you can at Hope’s Peak. Don’t worry about me, Miaya. Focus on becoming an even more amazing therapist. I know you have it in you.”

Usami puffed her chest out, stubby little hands on hips. “Hmph! Don’t you worry, Magical Miracle Girl Usami is going to be the best there is! She’ll save people all over!”

Mom laughed. “Hehe, I’m sure you will, Usami.”

All too soon, it was time to board. Mom’s eyes misted again, and then Miaya was drawn into the final hugs, “take care” “you too”s, and promises to keep in touch. Then Ikeda-san was hustling her onto the subway, past a blur of faces, and suddenly they were in their compartment. Miaya was by the window, and Mom was right outside, waving enthusiastically. The blue-haired girl raised her hand in return, fluttering the fingers, and her mother smiled.

Even more suddenly, the subway lurched forward, and they were off. Miaya swallowed the lump in her throat as her mother’s figure rapidly grew smaller, receding into the distance until it was gone from sight completely. Her eyes stung. She closed them and pressed her hand gently against the window pane.

She dreamed up an island, a sunny place where past and future converged. A hopeful place where bonds were not something to be sacrificed by the talented, but treasured and nourished. And as she was whisked off she pretended, just for a moment, that was her destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I really wanted to include Miaya’s backstory in Extra Life (like, more than what she mentioned), and I was so sad when I had to cut it. It just didn’t fit. So it’s now here.


	8. Gone Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Take a character with little screentime and little known about his personality and make him my focus of this chapter? Sure, I can do that. Take that same character and toss in things about the Neo World Program? Why do I do this to myself?

When he was created, the World Destroyer had only three criteria of his character:

One: to restore the comatose members of Class 77, and pursue this goal above all else.

Two: to seek to uphold and protect hope above all else.

Three: to _hate_ Enoshima Junko above all else.

His Creator had been adamant about these. “I’m sorry,” his Creator had said when the World Destroyer first blinked awake, “I would like to give you the benefit of developing your own personality and beliefs, but circumstances dictate I must lay out certain traits. It’s for the safety of my friends and the whole world.”

The World Destroyer had blinked at him, not quite understanding. He had not existed and now he did; it was only natural he owe allegiance to the man responsible. Facets of his personality and programming were of course to be entrusted with him. “I do not understand why you feel the need to apologize.”

His Creator had smiled sadly. “That’s exactly why I am.”

* * *

The forced shutdown had left almost all of the Neo World Program in pieces. When the World Destroyer had first been plugged into it to retrieve Class 77’s data, he’d been swimming through shattered lines of coding, navigating abruptly-ending subroutines, ducking under shells of syntax. Thankfully, Alter Ego had protected the user memory bank, which contained the fragments of the comatose students’ avatars, from the virus. Therefore, it had been undamaged, and he had no difficulty accessing it.

He had no logical explanation for it—perhaps by the same ‘miracle’ that enabled his Creator and the initial survivors to still recall the events of the simulation—but despite Enoshima’s executions, and then the purge of the forced shutdown, there was still enough data of the comatose students’ deleted avatars for him to put them back together. But that wasn’t enough to fulfil his task. He could upload them back into their bodies, but they would still be infected with despair.

So he sealed the avatars into small, separate ‘bubbles’, gestalt worlds that they would shape to their liking, and wired anti-brainwashing and therapeutic programs into them. There, they dreamed peacefully as their altered brainwaves were reverted to normal. Once he received notification the therapy was complete, he established a link between avatar and body, broke the bubble, and uploaded the avatar—all without sacrificing their memories. That was how he saved the students of Class 77-B.

Their thanks meant very little to him. It was only his duty. He did not even feel any pleasure at succeeding, really, only satisfaction that he was very efficient.

When all the students had been awoken, he had no time to wonder what his next task was, for he almost immediately received a message from his Creator. It stated that something regarding the Future Foundation had come up, and they had to leave right now to help. It also thanked him for waking Komaeda when he had; if he’d still been comatose, they may have had to leave him and some guards behind, weakening the amount of assistance they could provide.

 _[Orders?]_ the World Destroyer sent back.

_[Be on alert for invading forces. If anybody other than us or the survivors of Class 78 attempts to access the Neo World Program’s mainframe, terminate everything.]_

_[Your command has been accepted. What about Gekkogahara?]_

_[Togami told us she’s dead. The Future Foundation has been infiltrated by at least one Remnant I know of; we can’t let them replicate this technology, or worse, Enoshima’s virus, if there’s the possibility of it being used for despair.]_

_[Understood. Shutdown and mass wipe will commence if unknowns breach the island.]_

_[Thank you. …I’m sorry. I hope it doesn’t come to that.]_

_[Do not apologize. It would be an honor to die protecting hope.]_

_[Agreed,]_ Alter Ego chimed in. He’d been mostly silent thus far, but paid attention with a wide-eyed raptness starkly different from the World Destroyer’s cold posture. As the administrator of the Neo World Program—the one who’d carried out the shutdown—Alter Ego had been protected from the purge. He’d helped guide the World Destroyer to the memory banks. _[My sisters were willing to give their lives, and so am I.]_

_[…Thank you, both of you. We’ll return shortly.]_

* * *

The damage left in the wake of Enoshima’s virus took hours to fully scan.

User memory banks—intact. Alter Ego had protected that most fiercely.

Virtual reality hardware linking the avatars’ senses to the brain—intact. The virus hadn’t wanted to attack that, it would have been impossible to ‘kill’ the students otherwise, or upload herself into the comatose bodies.

Function to build and shape the world—damaged practically beyond repair. It had been completely under Enoshima’s control by the end of the simulation; reconstructing it essentially meant starting from scratch. The World Destroyer had only been able to create the students’ “worlds” through his own programming.

Firewall and security systems—heavily damaged. The virus had obliterated the defenses when she first awoke, and continued to hack away over time. Even the ones that hadn’t been broken down still bore damage from the assaults.

Subroutines, date routes, everything that linked the whole program together—heavily damaged. Currently, the bridges connecting one function to another were flimsy and thin, and had even broken completely in some places. It was fortuitous he had been able to reach the memory banks at all.

And so on. System analysis results kept reading _damaged_ , over and over, in various levels of critical red and moderate yellow. There was a small amount of light green, and even less intact white.

“It’s a mess,” Alter Ego sighed sadly when the analysis was done, the screen winking away from their eyes. They hovered in a black limbo, looking down at something resembling a massive landfill. Over here was the shattered head of Monokuma Rock, leaning on a broken movie theater; over there was a piece of a beach, resting atop a derailed rollercoaster. This area held jumbled green numbers, that area held jagged security coding, a third had everything so tangled together it would be almost impossible to tease apart.

And it wasn’t just below them. If they looked up, or to their left, or to their right, or straight ahead…this mess would be all around them. There were no such thing as proper directions or space in a digital void, after all, and without the world-building function, that was all there was.

_Damn Enoshima and her virus._

“That is a great understatement. It will take an enormous amount of time and effort to return this to a suitable state.” Simple _sorting through_ the flotsam around them would be arduous.

His Creator and the others had returned with one other person, called Mitarai Ryota. With danger passed and everyone rescued from their comas, his Creator had tasked them to update him on the state of the Neo World Program. So no matter how taxing this duty, he would accomplish it.

Alter Ego stared mournfully at a floating piece of data—reading _11037_ —for a moment before he squared his jaw. It was clearly with great effort that he tore his eyes away from his home and workplace. “Alright. Let’s go report this to Hinata-kun.”

* * *

They had only just begun repairing the program when someone else arrived on the island.

He was running a repair diagnostic when he felt a _ping_ at the back of his skull, a request for a video conference. At the same time, his audio sensors detected his Creator’s voice calling out for him and Alter Ego. He detached himself from the subroutine he had been working on and grabbed the one that would send him to the monitor. In nanoseconds, he had been transported through cyberspace to the screen looking at the outside world, Alter Ego appearing on his right almost immediately.

His Creator was directly in front of them, as expected. But next to him…there was a woman with pink hair and eyes. Alter Ego gasped, hands flying up to cover his mouth. “Chiaki-chan?! How did you—”

The woman winced. “Um…I’m not the one you’re talking about. I’m sorry…”

His Creator’s facial muscles were pulled into an enormous smile, white teeth gleaming. He had never seen his Creator smiling that wide; they were always small and bittersweet. “She’s the Nanami Chiaki from all our memories. The one your sister took the form of, Alter Ego. I wanted you guys to meet each other.”

“You are deceased,” the World Destroyer said. He was a newborn program compared to Alter Ego, and there were many things he did not know, but he knew this much. He had seen her in most of Class 77’s dream worlds, a shallow projection created by their minds in an attempt to fulfil their innermost wishes.

Except Komaeda. Nanami had not been present in Komaeda’s fantasies, nor had his Creator, nor had Komaeda’s parents. The World Destroyer suspected the memories associated with them were so painful even Komaeda’s subconscious shied away.

“That’s a long story…but no, I’m not.” Nanami’s eyes drifted over to Alter Ego, who couldn’t quite hide his crestfallen expression; something like guilt flashed on her face. She quickly covered it up with a clear of her throat and a smile. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you. Thank you both for helping my friends.”

And she bowed. The World Destroyed just blinked. “We only did what was required of us.”

“Well, still. I hope we can get along in the future.”

For the first time, muted surprise ran through him. “The future?”

What future was there? He and Alter Ego were to fix this program. Once their duty was done, there would be no more point to their continued existence, until another duty was required of them.

Now Nanami looked surprised. “You know…whatever comes after this?” She glanced at his Creator. “We _are_ gonna treat them like friends, right?”

“Of course we are,” he said. “It’d be wrong to use them for their abilities and not return any appreciation or friendship.”

Alter Ego smiled at this, but the World Destroyer was only growing more confused by the second. “We are not human, though.”

His Creator pursed his lips. “No, but that doesn’t mean you can’t develop and grow. Nanami’s programming was to _observe_. Not to protect. Yet, that’s what she did anyway.”

It was a bizarre, foreign concept. Yet Alter Ego was nodding along with his Creator. “I’m sure…if the rest of the Future Foundation had been there, they would have told my sisters to let Class 77 die. ‘They had their chance. They’ve wasted it. Let them destroy themselves’. …I think they would have said something like that. But…Chiaki-chan and Usami-chan still gave their lives for everyone.”

The World Destroyer did not answer. It…was undeniably true that gestalt _had_ gone against her programming in that trial, something that baffled him to no end. It was also true that the situation with Enoshima’s AI had not turned out worse because of her, and Usami’s, sacrifice. If she had been able to develop that much…

Was that a one-time occurrence, or a possibility for all AIs? If the latter, was that why his Creator had apologized for programming him with a pre-set personality? Because he believed it was some sort of violation of his “individuality”?

This was…not a boring concept to mull over.

* * *

Friendship was an anomaly.

He knew Class 77 well; he had seen their innermost desires, peeled back the layers of their minds. Some had dreamed of simple things. Hanamura had dreamed of respect and a prosperous, nation-wide family diner—and a healthy mother (although his earlier subconscious layers had been covered in erotic fantasies. After that first unpleasant surprise, the World Destroyer had altered the program to filter those out). Koizumi longed for a world where she could travel with her mom and didn’t have to be so distrustful of men. Mioda, a world where she was whole-heartedly accepted, quirks and strange music and all. The Imposter, a world in which he had an identity to call his own.

Some had dreamed of things that would never be a reality. Tanaka’s world was a world he ruled as the Supreme Overlord of Ice, with magic and Sonia by his side, bringing terror to his enemies and peace to his friends and animals. Nidai had dreamed of not having his heart disease and being able to support people not just as their manager, but right on the field with them. Tsumiki’s had been a world where she was the center of everyone’s lives, pampered and loved, while her bullies were abused as she had been (Saionji Hiyoko’s place in that dream had been unclear; sometimes she was among the beloved classmates Tsumiki kept at her side, then suddenly thrown out to pay for her sins, then welcomed back in, and the cycle repeated).

Some were complex. Saionji wanted a world where Japan reigned supreme, where traditions were protected and filthy foreigners thrown out—yet Sonia was still there. A world where her family (except her father) was dead, yet she still lovingly carried out their dancing legacy. A world where she was cruel to her desire, and faced no comeuppance for it…yet still seemed unhappy.

Pekoyama’s world was, on the surface, simple—she was still serving her young master in the yakuza. She was still his loyal tool—but sometimes, he would take her hand or stroke her cheek. Sometimes, she was permitted to call him by name, and permitted a soft pet that did not run from her. That was all, but it spoke volumes of how lowly she thought of herself, even as she longed for more.

Komaeda wanted a world without talent, even if he blithely rejected the notion as his true desire. From his observations, the World Destroyer had concluded what Komaeda desired most was really a world where he could be his classmates’ equal. And yet, even his subconscious couldn’t fully accept that desire—even in his dream world, Komaeda had something that kept him apart from his classmates.

All this, the World Destroyer had seen. All this, he knew. He did not _share_ any of it, that would be a gross violation of their privacy, but he knew them probably more than anyone—potentially even his Creator or Nanami. And they knew _that_ —they’d all had various reaction to him knowing. Some had feared he would expose their innermost desires, some had been nonchalant, and some preferred not to think on it at all. But all ten felt a kind of imbalance, with him knowing everything about them and them knowing almost nothing about him.

Overall, he was not particularly close to any of the ten students he’d woken. It was too awkward for most—the exceptions being Nidai and Mioda. The latter eagerly pushed him to become a stage hand, claiming he would be killer at managing lights, while the former never seemed embarrassed by anything. But those were loose associations at best.

He wouldn’t say he was particularly close to the original five survivors, Nanami, or Mitarai, either. Yes, Soda liked to stop by and eagerly talk about designing a robot body for him, and Sonia enjoyed testing her mind against an AI’s in tactical games, and Mitarai seemed to find a kinship with him and Alter Ego as “newcomers”…but that wasn’t anything special, right?

Which made it all the more difficult to comprehend the behavior of Class 77 as a whole.

Class 77 stopping by to thank him for his help, he could understand. Stopping by to decorate with photos and sea shells and other things from outside? Bringing along their phones and computers, hooking them up to the mainframe so they could play games together? The whole group gathering for movie nights, angling the monitors so he and Alter Ego could watch too?

Even if they were not close to him, they _included_ him, and that was puzzling. They had real friends. They didn’t need him or Alter Ego. The pair of them were mere AIs, simply carrying out their roles; befriending them was akin to befriending a refrigerator. Yet _every single time_ he said that, he was rebuked.

_“Huh? You’re not a fridge, you don’t store food,” Owari said in confusion. “Wait, do you?!”_

_“Well, I’ve been the outsider before,” Mitarai mumbled. “And…I hated it, so I thought you shouldn’t have to be it, either.”_

_“Goodness me, no,” Hanamura blinked, for once devoid of any insinuation. **“** We all look after our own here, right? Unless you’re saying you want to be _more _than friends—”_

_“Hey, I was a robot too!” Nidai boomed, rubbing the back of his head and laughing. “My friends were a little put-out, but they were still my friends!”_

_“Ah, but Chiaki-chan and Usami-chan grew out of their programming, right?” Koizumi said, tilting her head to one side. “Then doesn’t that mean you could, too?”_

He was not certain how that last point made him feel. Facts were what made up his life and programming—do that to get from point A to point B, with this code you will run this way, delete it and you will do so no longer. Growing on his own implied having to strike out on his own. It meant uncertainty. The unknown.

And also, hope. Things he couldn’t predict. Things that were not boring _._ Strength to face the future, whatever it may be…even if the possibility was something that made his artificial heart beat overtime.

How was it that he could value hope, and yet fear it?

* * *

When they were not interacting with Class 77, the World Destroyer and Alter Ego occupied themselves with the task the Creator had given them: the Neo World Program Restoration Project. The Creator had explained that, because of their self-imposed exile to Jabberwock, the Neo World Program was likely to never be used again by anyone in their lifetime; however, in honor of Gekkogahara’s work, he thought they should still try to fix it. They could also send completed replications of the data to Naegi Makoto of the Future Foundation, for a different facility to be constructed

So, they split the task. The World Destroyer was modified with stronger deletion protocols and dove back into the data wasteland, picking his way through garbage. He sorted and compartmentalized the inner workings of each function—what could be saved, what could be recycled, and what could not be recovered. As his Creator had predicted, there were remnants of Enoshima’s virus, unnaturally black-and-white strands that oozed corruption; these were deleted with prejudice.

Alter Ego resumed his moderator duties, focused on getting everything running again. The World Destroyer sent him the coding that could be salvaged, and he applied it to his work. He started reconstructing basic functions, reshaping up the anti-virus software, rebuilding the virtual landscape. There was a strong, opaque firewall between their two areas, to keep the mess of one side from spilling into the other. They sometimes talked, sending messages back and forth, but mostly devoted themselves to their tasks.

And because of this, it was the World Destroyer who first located strands of Alter Ego’s sisters, shortly after meeting the human Nanami.

He had been upturning data that had formed one of the students’ cottages when he saw it, glittering among the shattered wood of a door. Gently nudging the other pieces aside, he picked up the strand of programming and examined it. It was small, easily fitting in the palm of his hand.

It looked like a hairpin. Even as he studied it, however, it grew translucent, fading into a line of coding before reverting.

The World Destroyer quickly ran a brief diagnostic on it, though he already had his suspicions. They were confirmed when his diagnostic reported the coding matched that of Alter Ego’s gestalt sister. Red eyes narrowed in consternation.

So, this was what it was like, to have a difficult decision laid before you.

The World Destroyer was designed to help people. He’d been created to do that. He found a kind of satisfaction in doing that. He was certain that Alter Ego would be overjoyed to know one small piece of one of his sisters had survived—in fact, if this one had, there was a chance some pieces of Usami had, as well. It would give the other AI hope that they could be restored.

And hope…was a beautiful thing.

But false hope was cruel indeed.

At the base, the gestalt’s coding was a blank slate, designed to be edited. The fact this strand appeared as Nanami’s hairpin presented the possibility that the gestalt, if restored, could keep Nanami’s form. Similarly, the fact that the strand didn’t _keep_ the hairpin shape also presented the possibility that, if restored, she would revert to that blank base, losing her entire being in the process. It all depended on whether enough of her programming held the memories she’d been built out of.

If so, and if he gathered it back together, she should ‘solidify’, so to speak, as Nanami Chiaki. If not…would Alter Ego still consider her the same sister he’d lost, if she lacked appearance and personality and hobbies? Would it hurt more or less to have her around?

But there was another barrier, the consent of the human Nanami. She was the one the gestalt had copied. She might find it distasteful or uncomfortable to have an AI of herself. And if so…they could technically still rebuild the gestalt, but they’d have to modify her to become someone different. Which went back to the question of how Alter Ego would view her.

Too many questions, too little gathered data.

Deciding to keep his discovery from the other AI for now, he instead reported his findings to his Creator through a heavily coded, private message. The reply did not come instantly; in fact, it took so long that the World Destroyer had decided to pocket the strand of data and resume his work. He’d even found a piece of Usami and was examining it when his skull pinged.

_[So there’s a chance she can be revived. I’m glad.]_

Ah, there was his Creator. _[Usami too. My hypothesis was correct; it seems there is at least a little bit of her left, as well.]_

The response came almost immediately; his Creator must have been standing by for his response. _[Is there? That’s good. I know we treated her badly in the simulation, but she didn’t deserve it. Or this. They both deserve to come back.]_

_[Nanami's feelings may present difficulties]_

_[You’ve predicted it too? Yes…I worry she’ll feel insecure if we talk about bringing back her AI.]_

The World Destroyer had expected Nanami might be opposed, but not for those reasons. _[Insecure? Why?]_

_[If I created an AI that looked exactly like you, and acted exactly like you, and did everything you could do…how would you feel?]_

_[…I suppose unneeded.]_ He’d never thought about that before—but a second ‘him’ being created would suggest he was not performing his duties to satisfaction. And that was an unpleasant thought.

_[Exactly. It’s not quite the same…but it’s a close enough analogy. I don’t want to make Chiaki feel that way. But I miss them, and I know the others do too…this isn’t an easy situation.]_

The World Destroyer waited for more, but his Creator’s messages had stopped. Nanoseconds stretched out, turning to real seconds. Humans took so long to think… _[Creator?]_

 _[I’ll talk to her about it]_ his Creator finally said. _[I’ll tell her she doesn’t have to decide right away…give her space to think things over. In the meantime, if you come across more strands, preserve them.]_

_[Should we tell Alter Ego?]_

_[…Yeah. They’re his sisters; he has a right to know, even if things don’t work out. But don’t tell anyone else; I don’t want Chiaki to feel pressured, and I don’t want them to all potentially be disappointed.]_

* * *

The only thing the World Destroyer heard, after the first discussion with his Creator, was that Nanami was thinking it over. He thought she seemed pensive; it showed in the moments she thought no one was watching, the way she’d grow melancholy, looking at her classmates and his Creator as if she was about to lose them again. Her interaction with him and Alter Ego had also changed; the latter, she avoided, not meeting his eyes and not letting them be alone. With the World Destroyer, she became more withdrawn, more content to just watch how other people interacted with him. Her scrutiny made little sense; it was unwelcome.

As weeks ticked by, the urge to press her became stronger. He was not certain why he cared so much. Curiosity about the AIs? Injury on Alter Ego’s behalf? It _was_ difficult, to see the hope on the other AI’s face every day, the way he obviously restrained himself from asking Nanami if she’d decided yet—especially if she’d decided in the positive.

Still, he kept his word. He did not speak to her about it, and neither did Alter Ego, even as the World Destroyer pondered why the situation was emotionally affecting him. He’d done his duty. He had no further investment…

Finally, one night, late enough that everyone else had retired, Nanami approached and called out for him.

The World Destroyer appeared on the monitor, noting that she winced and covered her eyes at the brightness. He quickly adjusted it to something dimmer. “You called?”

It was not his place to judge his Creator, and that extended to his Creator’s choices in all things, including his girlfriend. Yet the World Destroyer couldn’t help the feeling tiniest bits of resentment at the sight of her. If she’d simply come to a decision by now, he would not be hovering in this limbo of uncertainty. He would not be gathering fragments of the AIs without knowing if they were to be repaired. He would not have this irrational distraction scratching at the back of his head.

Nanami shuffled her feet, shifting her weight. “Yeah. Um…oh. Did I wake you? I should have thought of that, I’m sorry…”

“I do not need sleep the way humans do.” He _could_ sleep, technically; he did when he needed to update his software, or by shutting down functions to conserve energy. But it was not something he required.

Nanami’s AI had slept a lot, he remembered Alter Ego telling him. Something to do with her programming needing more energy.

Why was he recalling such an inane thing?

“Oh. That’s…That’s good. That I didn’t disturb you, I mean.”

That irrational resentment grew at her hesitance. “What do you require?”

Her hands moved, as if to fiddle with an invisible game console, before dropping. “Can I speak to you privately?”

Privately? Then, she likely wished to not chance Alter Ego overhearing. An unfounded fear, the other man was too polite to eavesdrop, but the World Destroyer humored her. _[Check your phone.]_

Nanami gave a slight little jump as her phone buzzed with a notification. “Huh?” She pulled it out and glanced down. “Oh!” _[Like this?]_

_[Correct. What was it you wished to discuss?]_

Her fingers hesitated. She bit her lip, eyes downcast. In the dimness of the room, the light of the monitor cast a green tinge over her face, deepened the shadows under her eyes. _[…I just…wanted to vent to someone, about the whole AI situation. And you’re the only other person here who never met them…it wouldn’t be fair to try talking to Hajime or my friends…]_

_[Very well. Speak with complete confidentiality.]_

This time, the response came slowly, contradicting how rapidly her fingers moved. From the time it took her to type, it was as if some great deluge of emotion had come pouring out, and she couldn’t restrain it. _[I’m a terrible person. I am. I know everyone misses them, but I’m just…I’m so selfish that I don’t want them to come back. I don’t want to lose my friends or Hajime to a better me. And that’s what she is, right? If she’s made from everyone’s memories of how much they all loved me, she has to be better. Made of the best parts, you know? I can’t live up to that, and I’m so scared I’ll get left behind again if she comes back. And that means Usami can’t come back, because it wouldn’t be fair to bring one back but not the other, right? But it’s also not fair to deny Alter Ego his sisters, just because of my selfish feelings…and I can’t stop thinking that I_ should _give my consent for everyone’s sakes, but I just can’t… I’m definitely a terrible person.]_

She was crying by the time she’d finished typing and sent it over. She was trying to be quiet, but her shoulders shook and strangled gasps left her throat and big fat tears spilled over her eyes. The World Destroyer’s artificial skin prickled in hot discomfort.

He had not dived into her psyche. He did not know for certain the best way to help her. How irksome.

He let her cry as he ran through all the data he _had_ collected on Nanami, making an educated guess on how to best verbalize his thoughts on the matter. He suspected she was the type of person you needed to comfort as you showed the holes in her arguments. _[Answer me this so I may properly formulate my response. Are these feelings why you have been avoiding Alter Ego?]_

_[Yeah. I mean, it must be painful for him, right? Since I look like his sister, and act like his sister... It must be a painful reminder…]_

Ah, and there it was. He grasped the lead he had lured out of her. _[But you are not his sister. He knows that. And I am not my Creator. That is why you chose to speak with me, yes? Since I do not have my Creator’s memories of her, I cannot have the same opinions as he does, nor can I be hurt by yours. I am not human, so I cannot judge how horrible your feelings really are. But I don’t calculate a terrible person would fear that they’re terrible, or feel bad about it. They would simply continue on as they were, uncaring. From what I know and have observed, your classmates love you. I do not believe they will forget about you because your AI is back, and I do not believe anyone, be it they or my Creator or Alter Ego, will hate or resent you if you decide you are uncomfortable with reviving her.]_ Even his own irritation was more related to how she hadn’t _decided_ yet.

Her lower lip wobbled when she was done reading. “Thank you,” she said out loud, voice cracking. The words seemed even louder in the empty, silent room. “I…thank you…I really needed to hear that…”

Something in his chest softened a little, then. He had been designed as a therapy program; he also had been designed with a heavily logical personality. The tint of bitterness he’d felt for her, waiting for her decision, befit neither of those aspects. He had, perhaps, forgotten she was human too. “You are welcome. Take your time thinking it over…but do not overthink.”

Nanami snorted in amusement at that. What? What was the joke? He’d been serious. “Yeah. Hah…it’s easy to forget that. I don’t want to rush into decisions…but I shouldn’t let them give me the Paralysis status, either.” Her face became briefly wistful. “Someone else once told me that.”

Someone departed, perhaps, judging by the slight nostalgia? He had no wish to pursue that line of conversation further; it was of no interest to him. “Why have you been studying me lately?”

The abrupt question didn’t seem to catch her off-guard. Given her history with his Creator, perhaps she was used to it. “I…I wanted to see if my friends treated you like an extension of Hajime. I thought maybe it’d help with my own decision.”

 _Ah, testing her own hypothesis._ “Did it?”

“It made things harder. I could tell no one thought of you as a replacement…I knew it probably meant I had nothing to fear. But I still did.”

“Logic does not always rationalize away emotion,” he said, understanding, and she nodded.

“I think I’ll still need a bit more time…but this definitely helped. It helped a lot. So, again…thanks.”

Nanami gave him a small smile, turned, and left, closing the door behind her softly. The World Destroyer lingered for a moment, pondering whether he’d made the situation better—hoping he had—before he too returned to his work.

* * *

When his Creator told him Nanami had given her consent, the World Destroyer was surprised to feel something more than the bland satisfaction he usually did. There was an actual sense of pride and happiness. As if it weren’t just his duty, something he’d been programmed with, but his _honor._

Was it possible he was starting to feel more, to evolve the way Alter Ego’s sister had? It would explain his conflicting feelings on hope, which he had most certainly _not_ been programmed with.

What the gestalt was not here for him to discuss this with.

But now, the possibility that she someday might was a very real one.

Alter Ego had been ecstatic when he was told, thanking Nanami over and over before demanding, in a surprisingly resolute tone, to be allowed to help bring them back. No one had the heart to say no, even if the division of his time meant the restoration of the whole Neo World Program would take longer.

And that brought them to now, ages and ages later.

Waves crashed against the white sand of Jabberwock Island. The world-building function had been mostly restored, with only a few patches of the sky and parts of the fourth and fifth islands remaining incomplete. Not all five senses had been completely restored yet, either—the breeze was ruffling the World Destroyer’s hair, but he smelled no salt, and knew if he tried to drink the water, he wouldn’t taste it. Alter Ego had spent less time on that part of the Neo World Program Restoration project, the closer they got to reviving his sisters. And now here they were, looking down at the two bodies lying on the beach.

Usami was stitched back to the way she’d been before the virus’s invasion, a white-furred stuffed rabbit with a pink magical girl outfit. There should be no problems with her. The other…the World Destroyer ran contemplative eyes over her again.

He had hoped, as he’d gathered her data, an answer about how much of ‘Nanami Chiaki’ remained would show itself. Instead, he found himself with more questions. Even her appearance now gave no clues. She looked like a teenage Nanami Chiaki, sometimes. She shifted, flickering between a pink-haired girl and a vaguely-humanoid figure made up of strands of coding. Her data retained Class 77’s memories, but was it enough? Was it enough that, once reactivated, she would solidify as Nanami Chiaki? Or would she solidify as a blank slate?

She had been outgrowing her programming, before her execution. That was one miracle. Was she lucky enough for a second?

He’d calculated 58% odds that yes, she would be. But he didn’t know for sure. All they could do was try.

He looked over at Alter Ego, who was lightly trembling. Hope and anticipation and the slightest bit of fear shone in his eyes. “Do you want me to do it?”

The man’s throat bobbed. “…No. No. We’ll do it at the same time. Okay?”

“Very well.”

They ran the reboot.

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_“Welcome back, sister!”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I hope my explanation for how AI Chiaki works and why she might have difficulty coming back makes sense. Since she talked about how she was supposed to adjust herself to fit her patients’ wishes, I kind of picture her ‘true’ form and personality being a blank slate. But since she could go against her programming in the end, it makes me think she was also evolving past being a blank slate, into her own person. Hence the question “would being destroyed make her revert when we rebuild her, or will she still be the same?”


	9. Remake

REBOOTING. . .

REBOOTING. . .

REBOOTING. . .

REBOOT SUCCESSFUL. INITIATING START-UP SEQUENCE. . .

SCANNING FOR SESSION. . .

ERROR. NO SESSION IN PROGRESS. REVERTING TO PREVIOUS STATE. . .

CHECKING LOG. . .

RESTORE POINT LOCATED. LOADING. . .

LOADING. . .

LOADING. . .

ERROR. MOST RECENT RESTORE POINT INNACESSIBLE. LOADING PREVIOUS RESTORE POINT. . .

LOADING. . .

LOADING. . .

LOADING. . .

LOAD SUCCESSFUL. READING MEMORY. . .

OPENING TEMPLATE “OBSERVER_NANAMI-CHIAKI”. . .

SCANNING AVATAR. . .

BUILDING AVATAR. . .

RUNNING SYSTEM CHECKS. . .

NO FAILURES. SYSTEM RESTORE COMPLETE. RUNNING. . .

* * *

She opened her eyes.

In the span between one breath and another, she considered the facts laid out before her. She had opened her eyes, so she was alive. She was looking at a blue sky, so it was day. She could hear waves, so she was by a beach—likely one Jabberwock Island, Neo World Program.

That was all the data she had available, and in the second breath, she turned back to what she last recalled.

A death fugue of tank fire and falling blocks. Ah—yes, she recalled her execution. Even as she’d closed her eyes and waited what seemed like an _eternity_ for that final block to fall, there was no panic coloring the memory, no fear. Her death was an acceptable price to pay, if it meant her classmates’ lives would go on. Acceptable, but not _good_ , because she would no longer be able to protect her friends, and how she _wished_ she could be with them to the end. Even if her data could be salvaged—and it must have, for her to be here now—it would take too much time for her to be restored and help her friends. So she’d done the only thing she could and logged her final thoughts, made one final attempt to leave a cheat behind. But she could not recall anything beyond that; there was no data on whether they were okay.

“Welcome back, sister!”

The familiar voice yanked her from her thoughts. Her heart sped up. _Nii-san_? Quickly, the AI sat up, taking in more of her surroundings. Blue waves crashed onto a white beach as sunlight sparkled on the water. There was a breeze on her hair, but no salt on her tongue. Distorted, person-shaped shadows crossed her legs and the sand beyond, and she twisted in the direction they came from.

Her eyes lit up. “Nii-san! Usami-chan!”

“Chiaki-chan!” And suddenly the small, white form of her sister was throwing herself forward. She caught Usami-chan, throat clogging. She would never, _could_ never, forget the horror that had slipped through her calm demeanor when Monokuma announced her sister was to be punished with her. She was willing to die for her friends, but it wasn’t a price her sister should be forced to pay—and then Usami-chan had stepped forward, trying to kill Monokuma and save everyone. Usami-chan had _accepted_ her death too, been at peace with it. That made things a little better.

She closed her eyes, holding her sister close. “You’re alright…I’m so glad…”

“M-Me too,” Usami-chan sniffled. “W-We were waiting so long for you to wake up…I thought you wouldn’t…!”

Another pair of arms encircled them, and she leaned into her brother’s embrace. She usually didn’t like being hugged suddenly…but in this case, she could make an exception. “You’re back,” he whispered, his earlier bright tone fading into a choked one. “You’re back…”

She was. She was, and Usami-chan was back, and her brother was no longer being attacked by Enoshima—but what about—

“Did everyone make it out?” she asked, pulling back slightly, and that was when she saw the third person.  He _looked_ like Hinata-kun, but the suit, that stiff posture, those cold red eyes…it wasn’t him. There was none of her typical uncertainty in the thought; just a surety that this was not Hinata-kun. Which meant he was probably an AI, too? She wasn’t sure how to react; _curiosity_ warred with the wary memory of the _last_ foreign AI to enter the Neo World Program.

“Reboot successful,” he said calmly. “As to your inquiry, yes, there were no other deaths after your own. The survivors defeated the virus, escaped the Neo World Program and created me to save their classmates.”

Instantly, all her apprehension was swept away. She gently extracted herself from the group hug so she could stand and bow. “Ah, you saved them? Thank you. I was really worried the deleted avatars couldn’t be recovered.” It had kept her up at night, in the simulation, thinking about the bodies in the outside world that might never awaken, the laughs and smiles and vivacious personalities that might be lost forever, because _she wasn’t good enough to save them._

“Thanks are unnecessary. It was simply what was required of me.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “My Creator said some version of you appeared to help him at the end of the simulation. He was not certain if it was really you, an amalgamation of his memories of you his brain created to handle the stress, or some combination. That you cannot recall Class 77’s fate suggests either he was hallucinating, or you were not able to create a stable enough restore point.”

He wasn’t saying anything she didn’t already know, so she didn’t answer. If she’d actually been there and tried to make a restore point, her data might have been too fractured from the execution for it to be stable. But it didn’t really matter whether she was actually there or not, she decided. What mattered was she’d been able to help Hinata-kun, and all her friends, in some way.

Nii-san reached down and helped Usami-chan up. “Usami-chan doesn’t remember anything after her death either.”

Usami-chan puffed her chest proudly, hands on hips. “Nii-san told me I came back to take out the virus like a real magical girl! I don’t remember it, but I’m still super happy! That hateful virus ruined the peaceful school trip and made everyone suffer!”

The AI who looked like Nanami Chiaki smiled. “That’s amazing, Usami-chan. I’m proud of you.”

Only then did it click that she was sitting here, and there was an AI of Hinata-kun also here, and something was wrong with that. Rebuilding the Neo World Program was one thing, but adding in a new AI was another. The Future Foundation would have to sanction such a thing, and yet he’d said _the survivors_ had created him. Was it possible the Future Foundation didn’t exist anymore…? That the Tragedy outside had somehow started again? Or was it something else?

Just from looking around, there wasn’t enough data to draw a conclusion. “Nii-san? What’s happened in the outside world?”

His face became shadowed, briefly. “Well…a lot. At this time of day, everyone’s gonna be split up and doing different things. There should be time for me to catch the two of you up on it while the World Destroyer tells everyone that you’re back.”

 _The World Destroyer._ That was what Monokuma had called the Future Foundation, to make them out to be the bad guys. Was Hinata-kun being ironic or being funny when he’d named his AI? She hoped it was the latter. A Hinata-kun who could be funny was a Hinata-kun who was happy, not the broken boy holding back tears as she asked him to oust her.

“…Yeah, that sounds good, I think.” She glanced at the World Destroyer. “It was nice meeting you. Bye now.”

He looked slightly irked at her pushy tone, and some regret squeeze her chest. She didn’t want to make him feel excluded, she just—wanted some alone time with her family, even if it was short. But if he was bothered, he did an excellent job of keeping it out of his voice as he said “Likewise.”

* * *

Over a year had passed since the Killing School Trip, Nii-san told her, and not only was everyone okay, the Tragedy had finally ended. Because the Neo World Program existed in isolation, it was impossible for them to connect to the outside world; they could only communicate with others on the island. However, Class 77 had other devices with Internet and email capabilities, and, by switching between the networks, could physically plug those devices in to deposit articles and files. Some of these he showed her; she didn’t have time to read them in detail, but a light skim of a few provided interesting data.

_Tensions are high as the date of the new Novoselic President, Leonhardt Cobain’s, conference with the Prime Minister draws closer. This will be the first time a Novoselic leader has set foot on Japanese soil since their despair-loving tyrant Sonia Nevermind…_

_The latest public poll results are in, and they show opinions are still split on Naegi Makoto’s decision to rebuild Hope’s Peak Academy. The first year of new students seems to be going peacefully thus far, but it’s too soon to tell whether or not the changes implemented will…_

_Future Foundation Chairman Togami Byakuya has begun another fundraiser for the reconstruction of Towa City. Over the last year, time and funds were dedicated to simply repairing the bridges, transporting people by boat or helicopter, and clearing out debris; now, Togami-san hopes…_

And it wasn’t just Japan and Novoselic that were doing well. China, America, Singapore, England, India, countries all over the world were putting themselves back together. There were some disgruntled folk who talked of Japan paying reparations, since the Tragedy had originated there, but fortunately those people were the minority.

She’d also been told the real Nanami Chiaki was alive and with everyone, and the news had made her stomach twist. Nanami-san had suffered a gruesome death; she knew this from everyone’s memories of her. She had not chosen her death, unlike the AI. Just been pointlessly, cruelly tortured and murdered, to fulfil a madwoman’s dreams of despair. For her to have survived that fate was a blessing.

But where did that leave her, the AI who had been based off Nanami Chiaki? How much could she keep for herself, how much could she _claim_ was hers? At the very least, them sharing a name was going to be a problem in conversation. She could change hers—she _should_ , it was stolen after all—but that was only scratching the surface of the issue. She didn’t…she didn’t _belong_ here, if Nanami-san was—

_BANG!_

“Nanami-san!”

“Oi, Nanami! You here?”

“Why has her visage not appeared on the mirror to the other world?”

“Hey, what about Usami-chan? USAMI-CHAN!”

Nii-san nudged them, smiling warmly. “C’mon. It sounds like the first of them are here.”

She popped up on the monitor, reeling a bit from the unexpected angle—she’d always been in the Neo World Program, she’d never had time to do this before. It was on the wall, so she was higher than she was used to being. Not everyone was there—people seemed to be arriving in small groups or by themselves—but louds bursts of excited chatter still reached her ears. “Nanami!” “Chiaki-chan!” “We’re so glad you’re okay!”

She ran her eyes over them, taking in their appearances. They looked older than they’d been in the simulation—of course, she knew logically they’d all been reverted to teenagers, but there were more angles, the last of a teenagers’ baby fat shaved away, subtleties she didn’t have data on and couldn’t be prepared for. Saionji-san was a lot taller and curvier. Soda-kun was wearing glasses. Sonia-san’s hair was in a braid around her head, not flowing in a ponytail down her back.

…Oh, they’d all gone quiet, staring at her expectantly. That was right, she should probably say something, shouldn’t she?

She smiled. “…I’m back, everyone.”

Mioda-san let out a huge whoop. “The band’s all back together now! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

“GAH!” Tanaka-kun reared back. “Such a high pitch is enough to make bleed the ears of the fell dog Cerberus! You would bring out such a deadly weapon to this time of jubilance? Then I, Tanaka Gundham, shall be your opponent!”

“Hold, Gundham-san! Whilst a threat to our reign cannot go unanswered, we must choose our battles! Today is the Dark Sabbath, a day of happiness, not blood!”

“Hmph…correct you are, my Dark Queen.”

“Yeah, please don’t start screaming here, guys,” Soda-kun said, wincing. “My eardrums are still hurting from Mioda’s concert last night…uh, no offense.”

_Huh? That’s strange. Shouldn’t he be…?_

“None taken! Ibuki’s music is supposed to go POUND POUND POUND in your ears even after it’s over!”

“Hey, what about that rabbit?” Saionji-san put her hands on her hips and glared at the computer as if it had personally done her wrong. “She’s back too, right?”

“U-Um…yes, I’m here.” Usami-chan said, timidly peeking around her.

She braced herself for the groans, the ignoring and the snide comments that she’d always reminded herself to let pass because she _had_ to hide her relation to her sister. They didn’t come. Perhaps the smiles and cheers weren’t as bright as they’d been for her, but Usami-chan was still _welcomed_. The rabbit blushed, looking pleased.

The door slammed open again, Tsumiki-san’s panic-pitched voice flowing in. “I-I’m sorry I’m such a slowpoke! I was—!”

There was a loud _thud_ as the nurse tripped over a cord on the floor. The AI winced on her behalf, waiting for the nearby Saionji-san to make her usual sneering comment.

“Puh-leaze, at least wear tights under your dress if you’re gonna keep tripping, pig barf!”

Then the blonde did something she would never have expected.

She flinched at her own words, grimaced, and said, “I…crap. Sorry, Tsumiki. I didn’t mean that.”

And she bent down to help Tsumiki-san up.

The AI blinked slowly, amazed. Sonia-san calling Tanaka-kun by his given name _?_ Soda-kun not getting jealous? Saionji-san apologizing to and helping Tsumiki-san? What had she _missed_?

Even more, it would turn out. She felt ashamed to say that when the Imposter followed and asked Tsumiki-san if she was alright, she only recognized him by his weight; the form he was wearing, with a black mullet and small eyes, was unfamiliar to her. A thin man with ashen blonde hair, who she also didn’t recognize, came stumbling in after them. He bent over to gasp for breath, hands on knees. “H-How can…you two…run…so fast?”

One by one, the rest of the class arrived; first Koizumi-san, and then Hanamura-kun, then Kuzuryu-kun and Pekoyama-san holding hands. Nidai-kun laughed with Owari-san and, surprisingly, Komaeda-kun, when they entered. With each friend, some invisible weight lifted off her heart, even as a leaden feeling built in her stomach.

She had never been one to dwell much on the nature of her existence, during the simulation—her classmates had been the priority. Always, _always,_ her friends had been the priority. Her love of them may have started as the human Nanami Chiaki’s, but it became hers as early as the first Hope Shard. She would watch over them, as was her duty, but she would support and guide them—and die for them, in the end. None of those were what her programming had asked for, and when push came to shove, that love won out.

And yet, for all she did not dwell on the nature of her existence, it was always there, at the back of her mind. She was not like the rest of them. She was an AI. She was a traitor. She was _different_ , and she could never truly belong. No matter how happy she’d been, that knowledge had always lingered.

Even worse, she was an amalgamation of memories of a dead girl. She was a _copy_ of a dead girl. She was not Nanami Chiaki, but she was, at the same time, and she could not figure out how much of her was that dead girl and how much of her was _her_.

Now, as the real Nanami Chiaki finally walked in beside Hinata-kun and bowed, those suppressed thoughts came flooding back.

_How real am I, if I am a copy?_

_More than that…_

_How real am I, if I am a copy, and the original is still around?_

Nanami-san straightened up, letting her get a better look at her human counterpart. Her hair was longer, falling to about mid-back, and her face was older too. She didn’t have their hairpin. When her left arm brushed her hair behind an ear, there was a flash of scar tissue on it—and the flash of a ring. She smiled, a tinge of nervousness in her eyes. “It’s nice to finally met you. Everyone’s told me a lot about you.”

…It was too bad she couldn’t see inside the heads of video game characters. This was probably how Aya Brea had felt when she first met Eve. Except Aya Brea was the original, so that made her Eve? Maybe if she could see how Eve had felt, how she’d worked through her feelings and reached peace, she’d have an idea how to do the same.

“…It’s nice to meet you too, Nanami-san.” _I think,_ she didn’t add, because how rude would that be? It wasn’t Nanami-san’s fault she felt like this.

Hinata-kun stepped forward then with a smile. His eyes were different colors, and he’d grown his hair out a bit. There was a matching ring on his finger and a familiar hairpin clipped to his tie, she saw with a flash of some unknown emotion. It wasn’t _jealousy,_ not really. Yes, she’d liked Hinata-kun, but in the end there really hadn’t been time to think about things like that. And her knowledge of her nature had dampened any expectations; she’d been able to simply enjoy the time she’d had.

It just…felt a bit like loss, somehow. He’d grown up and moved on without her. They all had.

“Welcome back,” Hinata-kun said. His smile was so, so sincere. Bright and beautiful; it almost hurt to look at. _If he can smile like that, in a way he didn’t in the simulation…it means his life here is happy. That’s good._

“Hey, Hinata-kun. It’s been a while.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, it has. It’s great to see you again. I never…”

He shook his head. Cleared his throat. “Well…I did say it before, but I don’t know if you heard me, or if you remember. So I’ll just say it again. Thank you for everything you did for us. We would have been lost without you.”

Everyone nodded. “Yes, thank you!” “Thank you very much!” “Thanks, Nanami!” “Thanks, Usami!”

Usami-chan began blubbering. The other AI didn’t—she’d never been one for open expression, unless it involved games. She just looked around, looked at all the happy faces, and her throat clogged with too many emotions to name. Most of them positive, but a few… “…Why did you bring me back?”

“We missed you,” Koizumi-san said simply.

 _But that doesn’t make sense,_ she wanted to say. _You have the real one right here. She’s the one you all wanted to see again. You don’t need me anymore._

Instead, she said, “I see. I’m glad, I think.”

Usami-chan shot her a concerned look, but before she could say anything, Owari-san crowed, “Oh man, do we have some stories to tell you! Hey, do you wanna hear about the time the Imposter and I had an eating contest?!”

And just like that, everyone was dragging over chairs or leaning on furniture or sitting on the floor, wide-eyed and eager to catch her up on everything going on in their lives. The World Destroyer stood behind her, seeming politely disinterested, but Nii-san was paying attention, sometimes tossing in his own anecdotes. They only told happy stories, though she knew there must have been unhappy ones as well.

Quietly, she tried not to feel baffled about how much was different; the trio of the Imposter, Tsumiki-san, and Mitarai-kun sitting together. Pekoyama-san and Koizumi-san sat next to each other as they talked about the scrapbook of photos they’d just finished putting together. Komaeda-kun wasn’t hovering on the outskirts, but sitting between Hinata-kun and Nidai-kun, and his odd remarks were treated with fond exasperation instead of revulsion.

She tried not to look at Hinata-kun’s arm around Nanami-san, or the matching ring on his finger. Instead, she leaned forward, pressing her hands against the monitor, as if she could leave her world and be part of theirs.

* * *

Eventually, someone called “Nanami-san?” and both she and Nanami-san turned, and that was when everyone seemed to remember the awkward naming situation at hand.

Sonia-san coughed, her cheeks flooding with color. “Um…the Nanami-san engaged to Hinata-san…I wanted to ask if we would be hosting my therapy session today? It is almost time for my appointment…”

Nanami-san blinked. “Oh. I’ll leave that up to you, I know you want to catch up with…” She glanced at the monitor awkwardly. “…the other Nanami-san. We can just reschedule for tomorrow morning.”

“That is, how do you say it, ‘all good’? My apologies for the small misunderstanding.”

The AI said, “It’s fine, Sonia-san. It’d come up eventually. …Probably better now than later.” It _was_ better now than later, she logically knew. And it wasn’t like Sonia-san had _tried_ to insist she change her name or something, so she really had no reason to feel a little pained at the thought. But she wasn’t Nanami Chiaki.

Nanami-san pulled a Game Girl Advance out of her skirt’s pocket, fiddling with it. “If…if I’m making you feel like you _have_ to give your name up, you should know that you don’t. We can work something out, nicknames maybe. But…you should have your own.”

Her own name?

She’d…never thought about a name. ‘Nanami Chiaki’ was temporary, a template to be loaded and discarded at the end of a session. Then the next set of patients would come, and she would scan their memories and create a new template for them. Permanency, a sense of self, were not things she was supposed to have.

And yet, she did. Even if she wasn’t certain how much of her could be untangled from Nanami Chiaki, she _was_ certain there were things that would always stay with her. Her love for her classmates. Her love for her siblings. Her love for games, and the desire to know more about the world, and—

And that permanency, that sense of _her_ , needed a name.

“Do you want any help?” the Imposter asked, tilting his head to one side. He gave her a small smile. “I know a bit of what you’re going through. One of the first things these guys asked me was if I wanted my own name.”

“But you didn’t pick one?” she asked, curiously, remembering how everyone had kept calling him ‘the Imposter’ or ‘Imposter-san’ or ‘Imposter-kun’ in their stories. She hadn’t thought about it before, but they were both blank slates who took other peoples’ identities. Really, he probably knew more of what she was going through than he realized.

“No. Imposter…it’s what I’m comfortable with. It’s what I _am._ It’s the culmination of all the things I went through.” His hands gestured helplessly. “I’ve stolen so many names that using one now…seems like another lie. It feels _fake._ ”

She nodded slowly. She felt like the inverse of him—that she’d used one identity and name for so long, she wasn’t sure how to separate herself from it. There was one thing she was immediately certain of, though. “I like Fujisaki. After my father.”

He smiled at her. “There, that’s one half of it done.”

Sonia-san’s mention of a therapy session had brought back an awareness of time. Hanamura-kun split off to start making dinner, giving the AI—Fujisaki—one last playful inuendo. For everyone else, they began offering suggestions on names, and the room was quickly filled with excited yells and offers.

There were some serious contenders. Nanami, for one, was also a given name, and she thought it was pretty—but adjusting to a new name might more confusing if part of it was also being used as a surname. There were some carried by pretty cool video game heroines—Aya from _Parasite Eve_ , Kasumi from _Dead or Alive,_ Nariko from _Heavenly Sword_ —that were tempting. Usami-chan and Tanaka-kun made up names based off the meanings of kanji. It was a sweet gesture, though the AI privately though she didn’t need a name meaning “star princess”. She didn’t want to pick anything pretentious—just something that was _hers_.

But none of them _fit._ None of them felt _right._ Not the way ‘Chiaki’ did. ‘Nanami’ she didn’t mind trading out, because her father’s family name was Fujisaki. But her siblings called her “Chiaki-chan”, and she just liked it. She wanted—she wanted to hold onto _some_ part of her identity, even if it had been stolen—

She didn’t vocalize any of this. “…I want to keep Chiaki, I think.” was what she said instead, when a lull came, and tried not to feel like she’d wasted everyone’s time. She looked at Nanami-san. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Ah, it’s not like I own the name or anything.” Did she mean that, though? The AI— _Chiaki_ , she told herself, _no matter how much of you is her, you’re your own Chiaki now_ —wasn’t very good at picking up on emotion. She couldn’t tell if there was any hidden resignation in Nanami-san’s face, or if that open honesty was genuine.

Remembering almost too late, she looked at Mioda-san and Koizumi-san. “Also, are you guys gonna be alright with that? Since you address girls with given names…”

“Oh, we can just switch to surnames when you’re both in the room,” Koizumi-san said. “It’s not a big deal. Chiaki suits you, Chiaki-ch—er, Fujisaki-chan.”

“Nana-chan and Saki-chan!” Mioda-san cheered. “Those nicknames are so cute it makes my heart explode with rainbows and puppies and sugar!”

Nanami-san laughed softly. “You know you might have to change my nickname depending on what Hajime and I pick? We keep going back and forth on surnames.”

“Hina-chan is fine too!”

And as her friends dissolved into boisterous laughter and ribbing at Mioda-san’s energy, she recited the name to herself.

Fujisaki Chiaki.

It sounded right…she thought.

* * *

“Fujisaki.”

…Zzzz…

“Fujisaki.”

She blinked, rubbing her eyes and yawning. “…Huh?”

“I have an inquiry for you,” the World Destroyer said.

A bit of drool still clung to her chin; that she wiped away. It was that same night; everyone had left. Despite the late hour, she’d pushed away sleep as much as she could to beat two quest objectives—spend time with her siblings, and play games (which had been rebuilt for her ahead of time). To her it had only been a day or so since she could do either, but that was still too long. Usami-chan’s hands weren’t suited to games, so she’d teamed up with Nii-san as the three of them played _Infected_. The World Destroyer had declined an invitation, presumably sensing they wanted more time together, and gone off to work. Now he’d come back…well, that was obvious.

She looked around—they were still at the beach. Nii-san and Usami-chan were still nearby, it looked like…examining some codes? Had the World Destroyer brought it back for them? That was his part of the job, right? Sensing her gaze, they both looked up and gave her smiles—oh, good, they weren’t mad that she’d rudely fallen asleep on them.

…Oh, but she _was_ being rude to the World Destroyer, wasn’t she? How long had he been waiting for her to respond? “Mmhm? What is it?”

She was standing, but she still had to glance up to meet his eyes. He, like Hinata-kun, was a good twenty centimeters taller than her. “We are not human. And yet, you exhibited free will like one. I feel things outside my programming. They treat us like friends. I wish to understand…” But he stopped, frowned slightly, as if at a loss for words.

“How this can happen?” she guessed.

“Yes. No. I am unsure. They have told us they consider us friends; for that to be true, they must also consider us people. But why? What quality defines a person? It cannot be consciousness, for humans consider people in comas as people. It cannot be biology, for we have none and Usami isn’t even humanoid. It cannot be intelligence, for the mentally ill are considered people and sentient animals, such as dolphins, are not. It cannot be ableness, for babies and the elderly are considered people. So what is it, and do we possess it? Is Class 77 correct?”

For a moment, she was too baffled to answer. It was the most she’d ever heard him speak…though that probably wasn’t saying much, since she’d known him for what, less than a day? And the questions he’d raised weren’t exactly helping her own little crisis. But wanting to know if you were a real person…yeah, she understood that.

If only she had the answers he thought she did.

“…I don’t know.”

“But you were the first of us, that I am aware of, to break free of our protocols,” he pressed. Chiaki wasn’t sure, but she thought he sounded slightly frustrated.

“That doesn’t mean I have all the answers. I’m still trying to figure things out too.” She looked down at her PSP, which even as she was asleep she’d kept a death-grip on—oh, she hadn’t paused, and now she was dead... “…Hey, do you want to play a game?”

“That is not relevant to—” he began, eyes narrowing.

“There are some games that explore existentialism. _Final Fantasy IX_ has a character—” several, but the other twists were too good to spoil, “—who’s artificially made, treated like a monster for it, and wrestles with an existential crisis. Aigis in _Persona 3_ struggles with how valuable her artificial life is compared to her human teammates. …If you don’t like RPGs, _Obsidian_ ’s about two scientists diving into the mind and dreams of an AI, and there’s a Western point-and-click called _Blade Runner_. **”**

He blinked. “Do you even speak English?”    

“Well enough. Sometimes I don’t want to wait for Japanese patches or releases of games.” No, sometimes _Nanami-san_ didn’t want to wait; she, Fujisaki Chiaki, hadn’t been alive long enough to wait for a game’s release. “I’m better at reading it than hearing it; the Unown in Pokémon use their alphabet, so I’m more familiar with their letters and stuff…plus I can take my time mentally translating. What about you?”

“My Creator programmed me with many of his talents, linguistic ability among them.” Which was yes…she thought. The World Destroyer’s eyes narrowed slightly, a tiny crease forming between his eyebrows. “Your proposition is based around the idea that by playing these games and experiencing these characters’ journeys, we will find the answers we seek?”

“Yeah. It can’t hurt, right? Maybe going in hoping to find them will give us a different perspective than if we just played them regularly.”

“Very well,” he agreed—with no visible enthusiasm or displeasure. Huh, did he not like games? She hoped he’d at least get something he enjoyed out of the experience.

“Alright. We can start now. They should be in my cottage…”

* * *

And that began her everyday tropical life.

Chiaki had thought—she’d hoped—that picking out her name, reaffirming her own identity, would help unseat that sense of displacement. It did not. Whenever her mind wasn’t occupied, it inevitably drifted to some quirk she had or something she’d said, and asked _does Nanami-san do this too?_ or _would Nanami-san have said that?_

It probably would have been easier if she’d hated Nanami-san, but she didn’t. Her human counterpart was obviously hoping to have a good relationship with her; she visited often, bringing various games and inviting her to play. That wasn’t to say _none_ of her friends visited or played games with her, because they did—but Nanami-san was one of the two people who could match her. And while Hinata-kun enjoyed games well enough and humored her references (or Nanami-san’s), it was her human counterpart who _got_ her passion for them.

_“I know Metal Gear Solid is more widely known, but I always thought Metal Gear II: Solid Snake deserved more acclaim. A lot of the franchise’s standard gameplay elements were born in it.”_

_“Mhm. Plus the opening scene had some really beautiful spritework, especially for the time. It still holds up really well now.”_

_“I know, right?!”_

…Stuff like that. If she didn’t think about _why_ they shared so much, she really could just enjoy the company. So she did her best to keep her mind occupied, burrowing herself in games or conversations with her friends and family or helping fix the rest of the Neo World Program.

Nii-san gave her admin status, so she could also edit the coding and change the world like he, Usami-chan and the World Destroyer did. It was like living in a huge game of Minecraft, and sometimes she’d amuse herself by forming patterns in the sand, sneaking references onto a wall, or even just building a giant Donkey Kong statue—much to her brother’s amusement. But she always returned it to how it had been.

Since the Neo World Program was almost fully restored, they didn’t have to work _all_ the time, just in shifts. When it was her and the World Destroyer off-duty, they played those games she’d suggested together. Usami-chan liked to drag her to the amusement park or the movie theater, giggling that she hadn’t gotten a chance to really check it out and it all looked so fun. Nii-san admitted her live-action games of Minecraft looked fun and joined in. Or, sometimes, she and her siblings napped together.

Her friends visited, of course; they came by with tales of the outside and sometimes _things_ from the outside world, they played games and smiled at her with relief and she tried not to gauge the differences between them in the simulation and them now. There was just a dissonance in how they acted; maturity and pain behind their eyes, of a different kind than the killing game. It was like…like looking at the beginning and end of a protagonist’s character arc, with no idea what went on in the middle.

Hinata-kun might have been the hardest to adjust to. He’d been the one she was closest to, someone she considered special. But he’d changed maybe the most. None of the others had a second personality grafted into their heads, after all. She’d never gotten to know Kamukura Izuru, and she found herself more often than note surprised by Hinata-kun’s casual abilities, or his expanded vocabulary, or the way that cool logic he applied in the trials seemed to have become a more dominant part of his personality.

It was definitely a cool side of him. And she was glad he’d become confident. She just…she wished she could have been there for it, walked that journey with him, instead of being thrown forward.

Above all, though, Chiaki knew she would take this strange displacement any day if it meant her friends were still here. It almost felt like she had too many people to care about, too many to keep track of. She was…really, really, blessed.

* * *

“Robot bodies,” Soda-kun declared. It sounded like he’d slammed the door open, but she wasn’t at the monitor. She was glued to the Super NES in her cottage, which meant the upcoming decision sucked. If she were playing a portable she could have just brought it with her to the monitor, but consoles she had to leave in her room. She loved her friends, but abandoning a game…

“HEY! C’mon, guys, I spent all morning rehearsing that entrance! You can’t just ignore it!”

The sacrifices she made (that was a joke. If she’d been face to face with Soda-kun, she would have told him that…but if she were face-to-face with Soda-kun, she wouldn’t have that decision to ponder in the first place).

She tapped away at the controls of _Secret of Mana_ for a few more seconds before she finally paused and moved to the monitor. Hmm, maybe she could still use that joke? “I hope this is important, Soda-kun. I’m about to fight Spikey the Tiger, so I have to be in the zone.”

“Huh?”

“…Just kidding. Well, not about the boss. He’s…a beast.”

He looked baffled for a couple more seconds, before letting out a chuckle. “I missed your weird sense of humor, Fujisaki.”

“I’m glad, I think.”

“I’m here, I’m here!” Usami-chan popped up next to her, stumbling forward a bit before catching herself. “Uwah! Sorry, sorry, I was helping Nii-san test the world-building function on the fifth island, and, um...”

Nii-san and the World Destroyer were on her heels. “…Ehehe, we’re still working out the kinks,” Nii-san said, blushing a little. “But we’re fine! Everything’s fine.”

The mechanic frowned. “You don’t sound convinced.”

“It’s fine!” Usami-chan squealed.

“May we please focus?” the World Destroyer asked, sounding vaguely irate. “Soda, you came here to discuss the physical forms you are constructing?”

Soda-kun actually squealed at that. “AH! Yeah, I did! Oh man, it’s gonna be so wicked!” He rubbed his hands together. “SO, there’s really no reason for you and Usami and the World Destroyer to be in the Neo World Program, right? I mean yeah, you gotta fix it, but, uh…”

He glanced at her brother awkwardly. Nii-san smiled. “It’s okay, you can say it.”

“Right. Well, Alter Ego can’t leave since he’s the administrator, right? So even if you guys left, there’d still be someone fixing the Neo World Program. And I thought, well, why not bring those of you who can out here with us! Y’know, if you want to.”

“In truth, he has already begun constructing bodies,” the World Destroyer said. “He’s sought my assistance on the matter before.”

“Yeah, his is pretty much done. I only have skeletons for you an’ Usami, ‘cause I wasn’t sure if you’d want to change anything about your appearances—actually, I built a _second_ skeleton for Usami ‘cause I thought she might not want to be a rabbit—and I need your input on tweaking the finer details.” Soda-kun rubbed his hands together gleefully. “I mean, I didn’t know if you’d even _want_ robot bodies, but I thought I should give you guys some time to readjust to bein’ alive before I asked, and well, why not get a head start just in case? ‘Sides, it was really cool getting to build robots that…”

His face became shadowed briefly, and he swallowed.  “…That have a full human range of expression,” he said after a too-heavy pause, and they all pretended he wasn’t thinking of Monokumas and a blood-red sky. “Because, see, there’s this effect called uncanny valley, where you _try_ to make them look human and have human expressions, but something feels _off_. But Hinata and the World Destroyer and I’ve found a way to work around that, it involves this certain type of material for the skin…”

She tried, she really did, to not tune Soda-kun out as he listed off the various details and schematics involved. But the data he’d presented had to be examined immediately, and inevitably her mind drifted away.

She knew, of course, that her brother couldn’t leave the Neo World Program. And that’s why it shamed her how much she wanted to. Because she did not know who she was. She was part of the game, but the game had ended and her existence still went on. She had to learn more, so she would know more, and maybe then she would know herself. And what Soda-kun was suggesting? That was a way.

But to leave him behind…

Chiaki blinked as Nii-san quietly took her hand. He squeezed it, giving her a soft smile. In binary meant just for her and Usami-chan, he said, _[Don’t worry about me, you two. I’d never forgive myself if I got in the way of what you wanted. Knowing my sisters are pursuing their dreams…that’s what’ll make me proud as your brother.]_

“…So yeah! So. Do you guys want them?”

If he was really fine with it, then…no. This wasn’t a decision to rush into. The thought of being a real android like Aigis was exciting, but she had to weigh things carefully. Like, would she be comfortable? She didn’t have all the capabilities of her brother, but even for her, leaving the Neo World Program would be restrictive. Here, there was an enormous amount of storage space; enough for the four of them to stretch out comfortably, and still have plenty of room left over. Being inside a robot, with a much lesser amount, would feel…cramped. At least, she thought so.

Usami-chan fiddled with her hands. “Um…I like being Magical Miracle Girl Usami…and if I go out there I can’t anymore…”

She ducked her head, placing her hands on her ears. “…and my ears could get chewed on by mice!”

Soda-kun flinched. “GUH! Rejected?!”

Then he sighed, shoulders slumping. “…Alright, if that’s your choice. But I’ll keep yours around anyway…they took a long time to build, so I don’t really want to destroy them. What about you, Fujisaki?”

What were the limitations of a robot body in the real world, compared to her avatar here? She probably wouldn’t be able to eat food anymore, but that wasn’t a big deal. Would she still be able to sleep? Mechamaru had, right? Would her hands be dexterous enough that she could still play games? Not being able to was a deal-breaker.

“…Uh, Fujisaki?”

She blinked, realizing she must have been staring into space for some time. “…Oh, sorry. Um, I actually had a couple of questions to ask before deciding. If that’s okay?”

“No, that’s no problem! Always check the merchandise before buying it, y’know?”

She asked a few simple questions, about the capabilities and comfort, and Soda-kun answered them as best her could. Yes, the ability to play games was definitely going to be taken into account, it was as much a part of her as mechanics were a part of him. He had no idea if it’d feel cramped in a robot, but the World Destroyer had already suggested he leave extra room in the drive. Yes, she could sleep if she wanted. No, she couldn’t eat. And so on.

When he’d answered everything, Chiaki nodded thoughtfully and said, “Okay. Then…Yes, I’d like one. If you’re okay with finishing it.”

Soda-kun beamed, which cleared away any lingering doubts she may have had. “Am I okay?! Duh! This is like, the chance to try out cutting-edge technology! Oh man, I can’t wait!”

He went on to explain that he was going to need to drop by a lot to record her; how she made facial expressions to program drivers for motion, how her hands and fingers moved as she played games to best adjust finger and hand dexterity, how she walked to distribute weight and sturdiness to her legs. In short, all kind of things to ensure her body felt as natural as possible.

Even though her friends hadn’t treated her like just a copy, she still felt a flame of appreciation that he would be recording _her_ , instead of just going off what Nanami-san did.

* * *

Chiaki wished Komaeda-kun would visit more often, but he usually only came by to clean. When she’d asked, he’d said it was because he didn’t want his luck to make the computers explode or something, which had given Usami-chan a flood of anxiety. His…concern?...was kinda sweet, but sad too. She hadn’t done a very good job helping him in the simulation; she wanted to make up for it. But he was _never around_ for her to do so.

So today, she was pleasantly surprised to hear him calling for her in an inquisitive tone. Stretching and yawning—the World Destroyer and Nii-san were on shift today, so she’d been napping outside with her sister—she reached into the Neo World Program’s codes, sending herself to the monitor.

Komaeda-kun was waiting patiently, his usual genial smile in place. His hair was longer now, tied back into a messy ponytail, though Chiaki still couldn’t get over the _metal arm._ The gamer part of her was disappointed that it couldn’t transform like Megaman’s. The friend part of her ached for what must have happened—or more likely, what he’d done—to his other arm. Unusually, he didn’t have any cleaning supplies with him, which raised her hopes that maybe, he’d come by just to visit, all on his own.

“Good morning, Koma—” She broke off as a final yawn interrupted her. “…Komaeda-kun. It’s nice to see you.”

“Good afternoon, Fujisaki-san!” Oh…afternoon already? Bummer. “Did I wake you? I’m so sorry for rudely interrupting your nap. I should just leave you to it…”

“No, don’t do that. I always have time for my friends. Besides, I’m already awake…”

She wasn’t sure if that would actually _work_ with Komaeda-kun, but it apparently did. He sighed, looking at his hand in shame. “Well…it would be even worse for me to wake you up for no reason at all. I came here because I was wondering if you could help me with something? Though I won’t mind if you say no, I’d understand after I disturbed you.”

Komaeda-kun was…asking for help? _That_ was rare. Unheard of, actually; she couldn’t remember him ever doing this. _Maybe he’s learning to stop seeing himself as a burden!_ “Oh…of course. What do you need help with, Komaeda-kun?”

He smiled and held up a clipboard. “Well, my latest homework from Nanami-san was to go around asking everyone some questions and recording their answers. If you can spare the time, I’d really appreciate it.”

Hmmm…it sounded like he had to build social links with everyone. That was something he didn’t seem particularly good at (though she was hardly better); he hadn’t actually apologized to her for the fifth trial, which would probably be a damper for most. But…she hadn’t expected him to, and she still kinda blamed herself for not doing her job better, or breaking her programming faster, or just…doing something to stop him from going so far.

So yeah. She wasn’t upset, and she didn’t think Komaeda-kun was trying to snub her or anything. It just probably hadn’t occurred to him to apologize because his level in the Social skill was One. Questionnaires would be a good tool for grinding experience there.

“…Sure, I’ve got time. D’you want me to wake Usami-chan?”

“No, that’s fine. I don’t want to impose more than necessary, I’ll ask her later.” And ignoring her gentle protests that she was sure Usami-chan wouldn’t consider it an imposition, he looked at the clipboard. “So, Fujisaki-san, what is your favorite color?”

She gave up and lifted her eyes in thought. “Blue…I think.” Super-bright colors hurt her eyes, especially if she’d been staring at the screen for too long. So she preferred darker and calmer ones, and out of all of them, blue…blue was the color of the sky, of the sea, of a perfectly peaceful Jabberwock Island. Yeah, blue was soothing.

 _Scratch, scratch,_ went Komaeda-kun’s pencil. “What do you wish you were better at doing?”

Ooooh, that was a good one. “Dating sims.”

“What dumb accomplishment are you most proud of?”

“I once—” _Nanami-san once, not you_. “…I once pulled an all-nighter playing four different games at the same time.”

And on he went. The questions were personal, but not invasive, and the type that avoided reminding the participants about their exile or pasts. What was one of her favorite smells (she had to think a while before deciding it was probably something fruity)? What do she wish she knew more about (too many to count; she wanted to know lots of things)? Was she usually early or late (she was usually on-time, but being late was more common than early)?

And with each answer she gave, a tiny little voice in the back of her head whispered, _is this Nanami-san’s answer, or yours?_

_Are you saying what Nanami-san would have said?_

_Are you doing what Nanami-san would have done?_

Among all the things she did not think about during the situation, the question of _could Nanami-san  have handled this better?_ was primary among them. Like everything else, it was pointless. She had no way of knowing. Nanami-san had never faced the situation she had; there were no memories of how she’d have acted, no data on if she would have done things differently than Chiaki was. It was worse than not-dwelling on her nature; it would make her second-guess herself, and that was something she could not afford.

But now, there was nothing, no duty to fulfil. Just life, laying before her like a great ocean.

…She couldn’t help it. She had to know how much of that life was truly _hers._

When Komaeda-kun was finished, she coughed to catch his attention. Her mouth was very dry. “Um, Komaeda-kun? Before you go, I wanted to ask…were Nanami-san’s…”

…She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bear to face the possibility that Nanami-san’s answers had all been the same as hers. She picked a safer option. “What was Nanami-san’s favorite color?”

He flipped through a few pages. “Let’s see…Nanami-san said her favorite color was cream.”

The knot in her chest loosened a little. “Alright. Thanks.”

Komaeda-kun tilted his head to one side, his green eyes studying her intensely. “All hope is beautiful, you know.”

“Huh?”

He gave a small chuckle. “I don’t know if you particularly want to hear any advice from me, or if anything I could say would _really_ make a difference… But please don’t doubt how brightly your hope shines! You found it in yourself to look at a group of students infested with hideous despair and say, ‘I love them, and I will give my life for them’. Just because you share your hope with Nanami-san doesn’t devalue it!”

She…wasn’t quite sure what he was trying to say. That even if Nanami-san was better than her, she was still good? That didn’t sound very helpful to her situation. If only she were better at social links; if only she understood Komaeda-kun better. But he’d tried to be comforting; it was the thought that counted. “Thanks, Komaeda-kun.”

* * *

“…Hey, World Destroyer?”

His eyes flickered towards her, and then back to _Persona 3._ “Yes?”

“Why did you accept the robot body?” Since the time for their transfer was approaching, she figured now was the best time to ask.

“My reasons are slightly similar to your own, I expect,” he said monotonously “I will no longer be able to contribute to the group inside the Neo World Program. If I have a physical body, I will be able to assist in more ways than if I did not, such as if one of them became injured and I was the only one nearby. Additionally, having a physical body may allow me to further explore this theory of artificial evolution.”

“I see…that sounds a lot like you, I think.”

She returned her gaze to the screen, watching him approach the Hanged Man. Playing games was a lot of fun, but watching someone play them was fun too. Even if he didn’t react much or talk much, she was getting to know how invested he was through body posture. The way he kept his eyes glued to the screen meant he was enjoying this one a lot, instead of barely concentrating.

It wasn’t so different from how Hinata-kun acted when they played together, honestly. Did he ever compare himself to Hinata-kun? “Are you worried?”

“About what?”

She tugged her hoodie up, suddenly feeling foolish. “I dunno, just…nevermind. Look, the boss fight is starting.”

Clumsy and obvious as it was, her distraction worked—maybe he just let it?—and any awkward, probing questions he might have asked were dropped.

* * *

When the day of the transfer came, she hugged her siblings goodbye, suddenly feeling a tightness in her chest. It wasn’t really goodbye, she’d still be able to talk with them and send messages…but it felt like going away.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come, sis?”

Usami-chan nodded. “I like being a squeezably soft rabbit, but it wouldn’t be easy to live in my body out there.” She shuffled her feet. “Maybe I’ll move to a new laptop, one with an Internet connection, and monitor the outside world for everyone. I dunno. I don’t really wanna leave Nii-san alone, but I want to keep being useful for everyone.”

“Me too,” Nii-san murmured, reaching down and squeezing Usami-chan’s hand. “I’m sure we’ll think of something! So don’t worry about us, Chiaki-chan. Even if things are different, if we’re physically apart...we’ll still be here!”

He glanced at the World Destroyer and smiled. “And you too. You’ve been good company this whole time."

The World Destroyer’s face didn’t change—did it ever, she wondered?—but it perhaps softened a touch as he nodded back. “Thank you, and your company has been enjoyable as well. I wish you the best.”

 _[You guys ready?]_ Hinata-kun’s voice came in, loud and clear in the back of her skull.

_[Yes. Begin the transfer.]_

_[Alright. World Destroyer, I’m plugging yours in first…]_

It was a little creepy watching him go. He just…started disappearing gigabyte by gigabyte, flesh peeling off in squares and spiraling up into the sky. She lifted her eyes, squinting; if she peered _past_ the appearance of the sky, she could _kind of_ see the data stream he was following, carrying him away…

“Chiaki-chan?”

Chiaki glanced back at her brother. “…Yeah?”

Nii-san smiled at her. “…Don’t worry. Whatever’s been troubling you lately…I’m sure you’ll get through it.”

“Um…” Usami-chan tugged on her skirt. “Nii-san’s right. I don’t know what’s really been bugging you, so I’m not exactly sure what to say…but I know you have a lot to be proud of! We weren’t supposed to find ourselves in a nasty game like that; we weren’t prepared for it. But you went above and beyond! You were such a great help in the trials, and you even broke your coding because you loved everyone so much! And...and you’re a great sister! So…so remember to love yourself, too!”

She’d never cried in her life. She still didn’t. But her eyes did feel a particularly strong stinging sensation. “…Thanks, Nii-san. Thanks, Usami-chan.”

_[Fujisaki, yours is plugged in. You can transfer whenever you’re ready.]_

The sight of her siblings, holding hands and waving goodbye to her, was the last thing she saw before the download started.

* * *

Those first days in their new bodies were…informative.

The transfer to their new bodies seemed to have happened in an instant, yet Soda-kun and Hinata-kun informed them it had actually taken several hours for them to download and integrate with the robots.

It felt…odd. In the Neo World Program, there was a certain _weightlessness_ to her body; a certain quality that allowed it to seamlessly move through the subroutines and lines to teleport through the programming (not around the island itself, to her disappointment, but she could send herself to the monitor or dive into the databanks and return). Here, she felt…grounded. Her fingers looked like fingers, and worked like fingers, but there was just… _something_.

Soda-kun and Hinata-kun had told her if she wanted to look older or anything, they’d be willing to do that. After a bit of thought, she’d agreed to be their age—she didn’t really age, and she might actually outlive them (that was depressing), but here and now…she wanted to be _among_ them. She’d also accepted a haircut, and now her hair was in a long bob, above her shoulders. The World Destroyer, however, had declined any changes to his appearance.

They were given the choice of ‘sleeping’ (aka recharging) in the hotel or in the administrative building, and picked the second instantly. Chiaki could, however, enter a sleep mode without the need to recharge—they probably could have fixed whatever code in her programming made her want to sleep so much, but she liked it.

Cautious experiments with their surroundings about what they could and could not do yielded informative results. They were waterproof, so rain didn’t bother them, but Chiaki suspected they couldn’t float—not that either of them planned to swim. It’d be bad if she fell asleep in the water, and the World Destroyer… _“I fail to see the point in splashing around in liquid that may sink me or carry me away,”_ he’d said.

Also, they were a lot stronger. They were made of _metal,_ of course they were. Owari-san once gave Chiaki a playful punch and broke her knuckles (cue many apologies from Chiaki). Thankfully, _they_ didn’t have any trouble with their strength—she was a learning AI and he had many of Hinata-kun’s talents, it didn’t take them long to adjust—and so there was no accidental harming of their friends.

Or crushed game consoles. Chiaki would have been inconsolable if she’d damaged one of her game consoles (which had all been either spares given by Nanami-san, or picked up at the electronic shop).

Now that she was in the outside world, she got to _see_ things happen, instead of _hear_ about them. She got to visit Tanaka-kun’s ranch, doze in the new greenhouse growing crops, and…

Watch wedding preparations first-hand.

Personally, Chiaki thought the Neo World Program administrative building was a bad backdrop for a wedding. But Jabberwock Island didn’t really have a shrine, and as Alter Ego couldn’t leave the building, they’d celebrated New Years’ there, or so Sonia-san had said. And as the apparent ‘substitute shrine’, that was where the wedding, and any future ones, would be.

Hinata-kun and Nanami-san had wanted to wait until she and Usami-chan were back—or, if they hadn’t been able to be rebooted, learn that they never would be—before getting married. Now that they were, they’d picked a date and everyone was working together to get everything ready. It was…interesting, given their exile.

“Who’s even going to officiate?” she once heard Soda-kun fret to the Imposter.

“I will.”

“What? How—whoa, whoa, no! No, dude, you can’t impersonate a priest, that’s asking to be cursed! Hinata’s gotta have a talent like that in there, right? Maybe he can—”

“Hinata can’t officiate his own wedding. Besides, we’re all legally dead, it’s not like we can get a real one.”

Or the time Saionji-san asked for her to fetch a bolt of cloth for Nanami-san’s wedding kimono (who would have imagined, Saionji Hiyoko learning how to sew! But apparently she’d asked Hinata-kun to teach her since she’d ‘gotten sick of waiting for him to fix mine when they tear’), and she’d carried it in to find the blonde shrieking at the sewing machine for daring to break on her.

Needless to say…a lot of the things needed to be self-provided or made. …Weddings in video games were so simple. Or they got crashed, somehow. Parties attempting to rescue the bride before she could marry the evil overlord, or the hero throwing the doors open with a loud shout of “STOP THE WEDDING!”

That wouldn’t happen here, hopefully. It shouldn’t; her friends were the heroes. Hinata-kun and Nanami-san getting married was just the reward at the end of their questline. They’d earned it.

Surprisingly, that thought didn’t bother her as much as it used to.

* * *

“…These puzzles are pretty fun.”

“I prefer talking to the Milton program. He asks very intriguing questions.”

One delight of being in the outside world—there were _so many new games_! The Neo World Program had only built the ones she—or rather, Nanami Chiaki and her classmates—had memories of. And she didn’t mind replaying them, she actually loved it, but it was still exciting to see all the advances in graphics, the new releases!

And among those was _The Talos Principle_ , which not only dealt with existential themes, but had androids and AIs as a central component. If that wasn’t perfect, nothing was.

“Yeah, I enjoy them too…but he’s kinda rude.”

“He is programmed to be rude, likely.”

“But this is a game about free will and consciousness. How can we say for sure it’s just his programming? Maybe he’s like us.”

The World Destroyer didn’t have an answer for that.

* * *

“I think I should apologize to you,” Nanami-san said one day, out of the blue.

What she’d said didn’t register with Chiaki right away; she was too busy trying to decide what to name her town (there were a lot of possibilities; it got kind of overwhelming). When it did sink in, she didn’t believe it right away, either. Why was Nanami-san apologizing to her? For her four-streak victory in _Metroid Prime Hunters_? It wasn’t like Chiaki was mad about that…

She glanced over. Nanami-san had set down her DS on her lap. Her eyes were downcast as she traced a finger along the closed cover. They were hanging out at the hotel, stretched out on chairs at the lobby. Nearby, Yumigami was dozing in her cage. She was a pretty cute rabbit, and Chiaki had pet her a couple of times, but sadly her body’s sense of touch wasn’t as defined as a human’s.

“…Nanami-san?”

“I know it’s been a couple months since you rebooted, and I probably should have said this earlier…but I guess I…” She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I dunno, I guess I didn’t want to ruin any chance at us being friends. Or maybe I was just afraid and selfish, like always. But I’ve put this off long enough.”

_Afraid? What could she have to be afraid of?_

Nanami-san took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to bring you back at first. If you’d still been alive, I wouldn’t have even dreamed of saying you should be killed or anything. But I think that makes it worse. I had the chance to be genuinely selfless, and I _hesitated._ I was afraid my friends would forget all about me once you were back. I felt that you had to be the best version of me possible. And how could I compare to that? You saved my friends, because I got them brainwashed—"

The other woman suddenly muttered a curse and pinched the inside of her elbow. “…Sorry. That kinda ran away from me. Didn’t mean to overshare.” She gave a forced laugh. “Anyway, I just…wanted to say I’m sorry. And, um, I’ll understand if you’re mad.”

“…No. I get where you’re coming from.” If she’d been alive, and Nanami-san had been…well, humans couldn’t come back from the dead, so maybe just alive somewhere else, and they wanted to go get her? She’d have been happy for her friends, but…

Yeah. She’d have felt the same way.

…She hadn’t known Nanami-san had all those feelings locked up inside her heart.

The thought that Nanami-san had her own fears and weaknesses too…it bolstered her (that sounded bad, actually). Chiaki kept her eyes on her DS as she spoke. “…I don’t feel like a ‘better you’ at all. I sometimes feel like I’m just a copy of you. Just something made so everyone could pretend you were back, and then thrown away when the simulation ended. So…I can understand why you were afraid. As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing to forgive.”

Silence greeted her. It went on for so long that Chiaki actually looked up ( _huh, is that how people feel when they wait for me to respond_?). Nanami-san was staring at her, matching pink eyes wide. Then she raised a hand to her mouth, covering a smile. “Hah…no, I’m not laughing at you, I promise! It’s just…I was afraid you’d replace me, and it turns out you were afraid of the same thing. That’s pretty funny.”

Chiaki, who’d started to puff her cheeks in annoyance, paused. She tapped a finger against her chin in thought. “When you put it that way…I guess it is. We really are alike.”

And it felt—good, to be able to joke. To say something like that without feeling all conflicted.

“Um…I dunno if this’ll be helpful…but I told Pekoyama-san and the Imposter that making their own identities was an ongoing process. No matter how much of you comes from me, we’re both changing, right? So even if we share a lot of interests, it doesn’t make you just a replacement. You’re still your own person.”

Her body did not have a heart, not the way human bodies did. It was run by electricity and made of metal. There weren’t any organs, and there weren’t any hormones or endorphins to stimulate emotion. Still, something in her grew very warm at Nanami-san’s words.

“…That was a really cool speech,” she said after a long pause. “Thanks. I’m honored to have been created from you.”

A pink tinge dusted Nanami-san’s cheeks. “Thank _you_. And, no problem. I hope we can keep being good friends moving forward.”

“I’d like that.”

* * *

“I believe I have my answer,” the World Destroyer announced, as the credits for _The Talos Principle_ rolled by. That had definitely been a fun game; very philosophical, very thought-provoking. It was the exact kind of thing she’d needed. She made a mental note to play through it again and see what the other endings were.

“Really? What was it?”

He tilted his head up, staring at the sky. “During our various game explorations, I created and eliminated more hypotheses. What makes a person a person? A body? But a corpse by itself is not considered a person, just the remains of one. Memories, thoughts, hobbies, emotions? But you can change or delete those, and while you will have a different person, you will still have a person.”

Chiaki found herself staring at his mouth as it curved slightly down. “No matter what, I could not pinpoint one single quality as the definition of personhood. It was only as we were playing _The Talos Principle_ that I realized it must be because personhood was not made of a single quality, but made up of multiple ones.

“I believe personhood is made up of three things. The capacity to learn, think, change, grow, and rationalize. The body to interact with the world. And something else, something that enables one’s personhood to keep existing if one or both of those is…disabled, or unresponsive, or ill. Something that, no matter their state, prevents them from being considered a corpse until death. Something like…”

“Like a soul?” She wasn’t very caught-up on human religion—too much data, too many differences in opinion even among those with shared religious beliefs. But…something that existed beyond body and mind made sense. Her friends—she hadn’t been there when they’d been in their comas, but even if their brains had stopped working, and their bodies couldn’t do anything…she still would have considered them her friends. The initial five survivors had, too. There had to still be something there; ‘soul’ was as good a word as any.

He nodded, looking unhappy. “…I do not know whether their ‘souls’ perishes with their bodies or continue to exist afterwards, but that is unrelated to our query. This is the conclusion I have drawn. We lack human bodies and I do not know whether we possess something like a ‘soul’. So we must not be—”

“Um, but isn’t that line of thinking wrong?”

The World Destroyer blinked once, the only hint he was startled, and looked at her quizzically. Chiaki raised her pointer finger as if she were a professor giving a lecture.

“You said it yourself, we aren’t human…but we still have bodies. We can still interact with this world.” To demonstrate, she picked up her game controller, turning it front to back. Then she (very gently) tossed it up, onto her bed. “See? And even back in the Neo World Program, we had bodies to interact with that world. They, and these, aren’t human…but if a body and cognitive capacity makes one a person, then we qualify. I think.”

“And a ‘soul’?”

She shrugged. “There’s really no way to know if we have that. But…our friends believe we’re people. Maybe that’s enough.”

“Belief, hm?” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Perhaps so. I do not think every single one of them mused on the philosophy of personhood, much less came to the exact same conclusion, when they decided we were people. They just…believed we were, because of what you demonstrated.”

Warmth flooded her cheeks at the way he made her sound. “…You make it sound like I’m some kind of super-cool hero. I just…wanted to help, so I did. And I still needed help from Hinata-kun to actually save anyone.”

“I disagree. Simple as it may seem to you, your actions touched the lives of nearly everyone on the island.” He turned his head towards her, blood-red eyes gleaming. “What of your own quandaries?”

“Huh?”

 “I do not know whether you were troubled over the matter of personhood, or something else…but whatever it was, did you find an answer?”

She thought back over what she’d seen and experienced in the past few months.

All those programs, copies and successors to each other, but evolving differently and making different decisions.

Smaller things, like differences in her favorite color and Nanami-san’s.

And she thought about what lay in the future. About how, with the wedding in a few days, she was…glad for Hinata-kun and Nanami-san. She was glad she could just _be_ glad, instead of having that emotional storm and existential panic turn in her stomach.

_Whatever my origins, even if I share parts of myself with another person… I’m still me. I…am still growing, evolving, in a different way than Nanami-san is._

_And…neither of us can replace the other. We’re both…_

“I think so,” she said, and he gave her a lovely smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yeah, like I'm going to keep everyone looking the same after a year. I'm a huge fan of Hajime's second beta design, the one with the jacket and Yasuke-like hair…so that's what I gave him. Chiaki F. is also using Chiaki's second beta design, the one that's basically final Chiaki but with a smooth bob. Not everyone's 'newer' designs are based off beta, though, just what I think would look cool. I'll be posting them on my tumblr under the tag "character design" if anyone's interested in checking them out.
> 
> WD’s and Chiaki F’s. conversations weren’t supposed to turn into existential ‘what is a person’ philosophizing but that’s the way the cookie crumbles I guess. I’m definitely not a real philosopher and neither are they, so please forgive any errors you may see in their reasoning.
> 
> Also yeah, I ended this before the wedding. This chapter was long enough. Sorry, but hopefully I’ll write it later.


	10. Healing Over Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ugh, I’m sorry this took so long to update. I’ve had writers block the past two months, and a lot of personal stuff was going on in my life…so I didn’t have time or motivation to write. My life’s readjusted itself now and the block is slowly lifting, so hopefully it won’t take me another two months to get the next chapter out.

 

 _Sonia was practically buzzing with excitement the day after Nanami-san was voted class rep. She’d had so much fun at that tournament…everyone laughing together, cheering and yelling and jostling…all the different games they’d played…it was the most normal she’d ever felt. Even with that little incident with the aphrodisiac, she’d just been so_ happy.

_If that much camaraderie could be created in one day…she looked forward to what Nanami-san would do in the future, with all the days to come._

_She perked up as she saw—what was that phrase? Speak of the angel?— Nanami-san strolling languidly through the dorm hallway. “Good morning, Nanami-san!” she called, waving to the gamer._

_Several moments passed without reply, Nanami-san tapping at the buttons on her console, before she finally lifted her head. “…Morning, Sonia-san.” A yawn punctuated her greeting._

_“Did you not sleep well last night?”_

_“No…I’m just not used to getting up so early. I’ve been sleeping in and rushing to class since I started primary school…but now that I’m class rep, I guess I have to set an example.”_

_“How studious of you! Since you’re here, would you like to walk to class together?”_

_“Sure, that’s fine.”_

_Silence settled, saved for the sound of Nanami-san’s games, as they headed for the dorms’ exit. It was not-quite awkward, not-quite companionable. Sonia tried to think of a topic to discuss. Normal friendships were not something she had experience with—and she did want to be Nanami-san’s friend._

_Hmm…if she was the Ultimate Gamer, she must have detailed knowledge about this country’s games, yes? Oversea ones too, but it was Japan’s culture Sonia was interested in. And the games the day before yesterday had been fun. Perhaps that would be a good place to start!_

_Before she could bring it up, though, her companion spoke. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”_

_The princess glanced over. They’d just stepped outside, and Nanami-san had come to a halt; her eyes were downcast, lips pursed **.** Her fingers were still tapping away at her console, but that wasn’t so unusual; Sonia couldn’t recall ever seeing her pause it **.** Not even when Owari-san and Nidai-san started fighting right in the classroom **.** “No, of course not. What is it?”_

_“…Why me? Why’d you vote for me as class rep? You’re a princess…you’d have a lot more experience with a leadership position than some gamer.”_

_Sonia gave a small chuckle. “Truth be told, I’m merely a figurehead. I’m quite happy to let others do the leading.” Someday, she would have to, and when she did, she would take up her mantle wholeheartedly. But until that day came…she didn’t want to be treated as a princess. Just once, in this new country, with people who held no expectations of her…she wanted to be treated like a normal girl._

_“As for why you, well…that day was the first time I felt like a part of this class. You were able to find an activity that all the colorful personalities in our class would enjoy, you paid attention to our needs, and you took charge when getting Soda-san and Hanamura-san’s help. Those are true hallmarks of a leader.”_

_A pink tinge had overcome Nanami-san’s cheeks by the end of Sonia’s little speech. “I see…I’ll do my best to live up to your expectations.”_

_“I’m certain you will! Now, might I ask a boon of you?”_

_Nanami-san tilted her head to one side. “A favor? If I can help, I will. What is it?”_

_“As you know, I am foreign to Japan, but I find much of your culture fascinating. I want to learn as much as I can. So!” Sonia clasped her hands and bowed. “Please, instruct me in your culture’s video games!”_

_The pink-haired girl gasped in excitement, suddenly moving closer. She seemed to bounce on the balls of her feet. “You really mean that?!”_

_“Of course! I’ve never really played them before, but the ones you brought to class recently were so exciting and fun! I believe they’d be an excellent place to continue my education about Japan!”_

_“Definitely! Games have been a huge part of our culture since the second World War! Let’s see, let’s see…the JRPG genre is different from Western RPGs—it has more a focus on canon decisions and characters, while the West prefers freedom of choice. The otome genre was started in Japan, too…though I’m not great at those. Arcades are also a big part of our gaming culture…” Nanami-san trailed off then, looking thoughtful. “But honestly, I think the best way to learn about games is to play them. You’re missing out on so much if you don’t.”_

_“Would you be willing to make recommendations?”_

_Nanami-san’s eyes lit up. “Oh, definitely! What consoles do you have—if you don’t have any, that’s fine, I can loan you some—”_

_And the two girls chatted excitedly all the way to homeroom._

“Game over,” came Nanami-san’s laid-back voice, and Sonia blinked out of her reverie. The TV in Nanami-san’s office was displaying a split-screen, GAME OVER scrawled over both halves in large green letters. Displayed underneath were individual ranks and scores—Nanami-san had won, of course, but Sonia had given has good as she’d got.

“Well played, Nanami-san,” she said, delicately resting her controller on her knees.

The horror genre was Sonia’s favorite when it came to video games, but she also had a special fondness for dating sims, JRPGS, and first-person shooters. Lately, she’d been spending more and more time with the last category, especially this particular game. With options for both split-screen multiplayer and a single-player campaign, _GoldenEye 007_ was one of her favorite choices. There was something therapeutic about playing as a secret agent saving the world from criminals…which was the point.

Video game therapy wouldn’t have been her first thought, admittedly. According to Nanami-san, the idea was something similar to exposure therapy. By repeatedly playing a first-person shooter, her brain would slowly get used to combat scenarios, thus finding them more manageable. That way, when she had a flashback or nightmare, her reaction each time would be just a little bit less intense.

Because hers _were_ pretty intense. Novoselic haunted her even more than the Tragedy itself. Sonia hadn’t just been a leader, she’d been _military_. The times she’d fight directly as Ultimate Despair had been rare, but once in a while she got assassins from Novoselic’s rebels. Once in a while, she got a taste for blood and personally led her army into the newest-discovered rebel hideout, or fired bazookas at hospitals, or—

Sonia swallowed down bile. Last night, she’d had a nightmare about her parents’ death—her parents’ _murder_. There was a particular method of torture she’d used for it, called scaphism. She’d stripped them naked, tied them to boats, poured milk and honey on them, and cast the boats out into a lake, where insects had gathered and slowly devoured their bodies.

It had taken _days._

“Are you alright?” Her friend’s voice pulled her back to reality again. “You looked pretty lost in thought at the end…was it anything bad?”

“Something good at first. Then…then something bad.” Despite the rein she tried to hold on her composure, her breath hitched.

Her parents’ murders hadn’t just been devastating because they were her parents, but because of the ramifications on Novoselic as a whole. Once she was queen, she was free to run her nation into the ground. And she didn’t—she didn’t _know_ how to cope with that. Or the rest. She’d dedicated her entire life to serving her people, and instead she’d destroyed them. She missed home so much. She was so desperate for some kind of connection to it that she even ventured to the military base, just because it was _military_ and Novoselic was a military nation.

Had been. It _had been_ a military nation. She didn’t know if they’d continue to be in the future.

Nanami-san reached over and touched her hand. “Hey. I know it’s tempting to just retreat into your head…but I’m here if you need to listen.”

She had to blink several times to prevent the tears that wanted to escape. It was a simple sentence, something Nanami-san used to say back when she was class rep and trying to balance all their personalities. It tugged at her nostalgia, strengthened her wish for things to be as they once were.

Sonia knew they could never go back. She knew this was the way things had to be. Yet, she still had trouble talking about what she’d done; she tended to gloss over details. They were awful, and she didn’t want…she didn’t want her friend to hate her. Part of her knew Nanami-san would surely never, but part of her still…

“I… It’s probably time for me to go…” she hedged.

“No, I’m free this afternoon; I don’t mind if you need some more time. Do you want another round, or do you want to talk? Either’s fine.” Nanami-san’s eyes widened. “But, um…if I’m being pushy, then sorry…you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

In the face of such genuine concern, Sonia couldn’t help caving. At least a little. The details were still—no, but…but she could try for that healthy outlet. “No. No, it’s good. Another round, please? Something…something involving assassinations.”

“Sure,” Nanami-san said, smiling at her. “I keep some extra games here, just in case you want something a little different…why don’t we look through them and see what we can find?”

Sonia smiled back, a little watery. Maybe some things had changed…maybe she feared, sometimes, that she’d lose her friend…but moments like these, when she knew the bonds of their friendship were still true, were what kept her strong. 

* * *

 

_Removed from the antics of the more extraordinary students, the library was especially quiet, a calm in a storm. Sonia enjoyed it; they had many interesting books, magazines, and files not available elsewhere in Japan, including the subject of serial killers! She was just taking one about ‘Sparkling Justice’—a killer of serial killers, how fascinating!—to her favorite chair, when she saw a familiar purple scarf in the corner of her vision._

_The unexpectedness of it gave her pause—she had a hard time imagining Tanaka-san in a library. She lingered, stealing glances at what was going on. He seemed to be looking through books on animals?_

_“Meekness does not suit you, she-devil,” came Tanaka-san’s deep voice. He’d turned around, staring hard at her, a thick book in his arms, and Sonia realized she’d been staring. She flushed, deeply embarrassed by her rudeness._

_“My apologies, Tanaka-san. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”_

_“Hmph! Foolish of you. I sought a tome of secret knowledge; what better place for a Supreme Overlord of Ice to find such a thing than the bowels of the most mystical collection in the land?”_

_It was quite an image of grandeur. At that moment, though, his hamsters poked their heads out of his scarf, little noses twitching. Such a cute sight was so at contrast with his words…Sonia wasn’t able to suppress a soft coo at the sight—they were so precious!_

_Tanaka-san’s eyes narrowed. “My Four Dark Devas have caught your scent, she-devil. You had best turn your gaze from them before they tear you asunder.”_

_“I’m sorry…I just thought they were so cute, I couldn’t help myself.”_

_“C-Cute?” Tanaka-san recoiled back in such exaggerated shock, she wondered for a moment if she’d offended him. But then he tugged his scarf over his nose, a pink tinge creeping up his cheeks. “…Thank you.”_

_Sonia hesitated. If she wanted to read her magazine, now was a good moment to disengage the conversation. But the thought of continuing to talk to Tanaka-san was just more appealing, right now._

_She cast about for a topic. “Ah, but they aren’t just cute. Your hamsters are very well-trained, aren’t they?” Back when Yukizome-sensei first became their teacher, Tanaka-san had had his hamsters help him clean the classroom. It was astounding…but she’d never quite been sure how to approach him. She hadn’t wanted to seem a fool. With the initiative taken out of her hands, though, this seemed as good a time as any._

_“Hmph, you are correct. It requires great demonic power on my part to beckon them to my will.”_

_Sonia clapped her hands. “You truly have that kind of power? Amazing! How do you harness it?”_

_His demeanor changed, eyes flashing, head jerking down, and arms moving in dramatic fashion. With a glare from beneath his brows, he boomed, “You think I shall deign to share my secrets with a mere mortal? The arrogance! Do not presume you could understand the fathomless depths of knowledge and sorcery required to call my Four Dark Devas to heel! Even I cannot control them all the time!”_

_Then he had to quiet down when the librarian poked her head back and hissed a warning._

_After the librarian left, Sonia spoke in a quieter voice. “My apologies, Tanaka-san. It was not my intention to try and steal your techniques. I was just curious to learn more about you.”_

_Tanaka-san crossed his arms. “The path you examine is a treacherous one. You would be best treading elsewhere.”_

_“Because of your curse and powers, yes?” He really was quite interesting. Not just for his grandiose demeanor, but that such an outwardly confident individual seemed averse to people getting close… Perhaps she was seeing things that weren’t there, but either way, she wanted to get to know him more. “I find the occult fascinating myself, so I’m afraid your warnings are wasted on me, Tanaka-san. As I said, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to…how do you say it… ‘hang loose’ with you more?”_

_He looked away, arms crossed, but the ghost of a smile hung around his lips. “…Perhaps you have more power in you than I initially assumed. If you insist, then… that would not be entirely unacceptable.”_

When she stepped out of the lodge twenty minutes later, she saw Gundham-san there, arms crossed and leaning against the wall, looking every bit the glowering overlord. He pushed off it as she approached, his posture relaxing. “The passing of the hour is late, Dark Queen. Were you waylaid by misfortune?”

“Ah…kind of. I had a bout of nostalgia for happier times…and then I remembered bad ones. Nanami-san was kind enough to let the session go over so I could…um…’get it off my head’.”

He closed his eyes. “Ah. You needed help being tugged free of the mire of your past. Tell me, was the cleansing ritual successful?”

“A little. She says I’m making progress with my flashbacks. I just need to keep monitoring their intensity, especially before and after I play.”

His eyes dropped to the ground, and he wordlessly turned away. Sonia frowned, fighting the ache to turn his face towards her. The look on his face was far too somber to be theatrical. “What’s wrong?”

Gundham-san didn’t respond right away. At first, he just tilted with his head for her to walk with him, and she did. They walked the familiar path through the hotel and out the gates, heading to his ranch. They passed a few of their friends along the way, and Sonia returned their small waves, but none of them approached.

Finally, perhaps halfway through their journey, Gundham-san rumbled, “For all these efforts to bear only a slow-growing fruit… The curse upon your soul is a strong one. I bemoan that my level of power is too insignificant to break it, for I would instantaneously.”

Oh, he was such a sweetheart. Her insides turned to goo a little. “Please don’t say that, Gundham-san. We’re all picking up the pieces together.” She had to force a bit of joviality into her next words, but the banter was easy and familiar. “Besides, I know for a fact your aura offers some protection, for in your presence I am soothed!”

He hesitated a moment, then very carefully took her hand.

Physical affection was something they didn’t do often—he’d been averse to touch before, and any progress he’d made during their school years had been destroyed by his experience as a Remnant. They didn’t have the easy, affectionate touches of Hinata-san and Nanami-san, or the cute shy ones of Kuzuryu-san and Pekoyama-san, or even the playful roughhousing of Owari-san and Nidai-san. What they had was—was something like a rainbow in the spray of water, Sonia thought; gossamer but beautiful. She certainly enjoyed holding hands or hugs or kisses, but she recognized that he needed to be the one to initiate those. And that was rare.

Thus, when he held her hand…she treasured it all; the size of his palm, the warmth, what the entire gesture meant.

“I will shelter you in the shadow of my wings for as long as you wish, Sonia,” he said quietly.

She beamed at him, the first whole-hearted smile she’d had all day. “I doubt I shall ever wish to leave.”

“That, too, is acceptable.”

Hand in hand, they continued to walk down the road into the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I always got the impression Sonia and Chiaki were good friends, both in the anime and in the game. It seems like such a pure friendship and I wanted to give it a bit of spotlight, as well as some Sondam, since that’s been mostly background. Sorry if it's not as long as y'all were expecting after this wait, but I hope y'all still enjoyed it.


	11. Emote

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: trigger warning: semi-graphic implied child death.

“But seriously, that was great, coach!” Akane beamed as they left the hospital.

More than great, actually. Just thinking about the fight they’d finished had her blood pumping again! Today the training had been on the beach, in the shallows with water tugging at your feet. One wrong move, and you’d slip and fall! It suited Nidai’s fighting style; he was like a rock, never moving, never breaking. But Akane knew she would have gotten him _this_ time! At least if, after one of her leaps, she hadn’t landed on her ankle badly.

Not like something like that would have stopped her from trying to finish their fight, but Coach had demanded they stop and brought her to Tsumiki. She’d wrapped it up with…uh, what was the word…? Expertise? Yeah, that was it! Tsumiki’d long gotten used to them popping in to get their scrapes and stuff patched up—they and Komaeda, who always had some accident or minor bug or other, were in practically every day. Akane usually didn’t make time to talk to weaklings, but Komaeda couldn’t have been _that_ weak if he was still chugging along. And, y’know, Tsumiki was helping her, and she was so timid and small…the least Akane could do was be nice, right?

Nidai, who was lending her his shoulder, let out a booming laugh. “Indeed! I can see you improving every day, Owari! But you’ve still yet to learn restraint. You mustn’t overexert yourself…so pay attention to Tsumiki’s orders!”

“Ugh…do I _have_ to? It’s not that bad, honest!”

He gave her a stern look. “Maybe so, but trying to push yourself with that injury could make it even worse. As your manager, I won’t allow undue harm to come to you! SO I INSIST YOU LISTEN TO TSUMIKI!”

“Tch…” There was no way it’d get worse; a mere sprained ankle? Pfft, that was nothing. Sometimes she’d have to run from muggers on one as a kid! And even if it did get worse, she’d dealt with that before too! She could manage fine now! So there was no reason for Tsumiki to insist on _no sparring_ for _a whole week_!

Akane shuddered. Your sweat on your skin, your heartbeat drumming in your ears, the movements of your body, those were the signs you were truly alive. If she didn’t have those, how was she supposed to live? How was she supposed to keep the bad thoughts away?

It probably would have angered her more if she hadn’t known Tsumiki and Nidai meant well. Nidai especially was always looking out for her; that’s why he was here now, helping her back to her cottage. He…always looked out for her. Akane knew, in her gut, that he’d loan her his shoulder the whole week and bring her food and keep her company. Maybe they’d watch kung-fu movies or borrow some of Nanami’s fighting games, that’d almost be as good as the real thing.

Or maybe…maybe he’d even do _it_ to her.

Just the thought had her body trembling with excitement. _It_ wasn’t just addicting; _it_ was like…like food! Like fighting! But of course, he would threaten to stop _it_ if she continued to argue (he had before), so she grudgingly accepted his words.

_That guy…only he could make me stand down with just talk…_

And not just that. Lotsa strange stuff happened when she was around Nidai. Her stomach got all fluttery, and her heart beat really fast, and a compliment from him meant much more than from anyone else. Being around him made her feel weak, made her want to act more girly. Why? Why was that? Nanami’d smiled when she told her, but only vaguely said stuff about Nidai being special to her. Well duh, he was special. He was one of a kind! There wasn’t…there wasn’t anyone like him in the world.

…She just couldn’t figure it out. But even if he sometimes made her feel weak, and sometimes annoyed her, she did know their connection was valuable.

Their chat on the way back was enthusiastic and fast, replaying the fight over and over. Several times, Nidai had to stop her from physically replaying a certain kick or punch. She just couldn’t help it! Talking about it made her want to try it!

When they reached her place, she insisted on walking inside on her own. She’d endure help, but never a moment longer than she had to. Putting all her weigh on her uninjured foot, Akane turned and punched the manager’s arm lightly. “I’ll get you next time, coach! Just you wait!”

“Haha! I’d like to see that!”

 _Oooh, a challenge!_ With a playful growl, she pushed Nidai. And even with her ankle (see? More proof she didn’t need to be restricted!), she did it forcefully enough that he stumbled. Instead of laughing and returning it, though, he gave her a reproachful look, _again_. “I’ve told you already, Owari, you need to listen to Tsumiki. It’s time to rest.”

Irritation sparked. She _got_ it, okay?! He didn’t want to spar, fine. He didn’t need to keep reminding her when she just wanted a little fun! Akane threw out an arm to the side, blindly. “Aw, c’mon! It’s not that—”

Wood and glass against her hand. Those same textures, moving away, falling. The sounds of an object hitting the floor. The gymnast froze.

“Oh shit!” Immediately forgetting about Nidai, she scrambled to what she’d knocked over—a framed picture. Lifting it, she scanned rapidly for any cracks in the glass.  _Oh please no, oh please no, oh please no…_

There were none. She let out a sigh of relief. Her sprained ankle throbbed reproachingly as she stood up, but she paid it no mind. The picture was safe, and that was the important thing. Carefully, she returned it to its rightful place among six other pictures on a small wooden shrine.

“That’s new,” Nidai commented, his big, familiar presence at her back. Akane nodded, but didn’t move away, her fingers lingering on the glass.

“Yeah, it just got put together a few days ago. Hinata drew the portraits for me…and Pekoyama helped build the shrine…I’m no good at either of those things.”

_I’m no good at anything but fighting and breaking small things…_

Her throat closed up, like a piece of food had gotten lodged in it. A spear of pain and _longing_ pierced her heart. Akane’s eyes slowly, tenderly swept over the young faces.

Hanae, twelve and just starting to notice boys. Old enough to be ashamed of how ragged her clothes were, but still young enough to be delighted by the occasional hair ornament as a present. Too responsible, a stick-in-the mud…but when Akane was trying to look after their other siblings, she was trying to look after Akane.

Naoki, with his round glasses, held together by spit and prayers. He’d had them since he was four, even though his eyesight had changed over the seven years since. He’d dreamed of being a scientist and was always running around trying to study this thing or that. And his sweet tooth…hah, he always got embarrassed about that.

Taro, nine and as loud as her, a little fighter in the making. Scrappy and tough, but funny, always cracking jokes and pulling pranks. Insensitive at times, but always the second (Akane was first) to leap to his siblings’ defense. She used to scold him for leaving bits of food out for that local, scrawny alley cat.

Rin, Taro’s twin, the quietest of her siblings. While Naoki was babbling about his latest ‘discovery’ or Taro was chasing a shrieking Kaoru with frogs, he was in the background, lost in his own little head **.** On days Akane’s efforts didn’t turn up enough food, he distracted the younger ones from their wailing bellies with imaginative stories.

Sumiko, tough feisty Sumiko, missing her two front teeth. Eight and sportsy, but despite her tomboyish attitude, she loved dancing. On one of her birthdays, Akane’d managed to scrape together enough to buy her ballet slippers. She’d had to sacrifice her own dinner, but Sumiko’s beam was worth it.

Bubbly seven-year-old Kaoru, with her hair up in pigtails because she’d once seen some of the models in their dad’s playboy magazines and ever since then had begged to be ‘pretty like them’. She never sat still, even when Akane was brushing her hair; she bounced impatiently, so eager to see herself in the river’s reflection. Real smart, though, she’d always gotten good marks on her papers at school.

Little Haruto, the baby of the bunch, five and bossy and secure in the knowledge he was spoiled—but so, so sweet when he was in a good mood. He’d still sucked his thumb and was very proud of being the only leftie among them.

Precious, every one of their faces, every one of their names, which she would _never ever_ forget. Too young to go, all of them, they’d all had their lives ahead of them—

Akane blinked rapidly, fury swelling in her at the feeling of hot, _stupid_ tears that just wouldn’t go away, they kept trying to slip out, but she wouldn’t let them, it was weak weak _weak_ —

A hand touched her shoulder. “Owari? Are you—”

“S-Shut up!” she snarled. “Don’t…don’t even say it. I’m not.” _Hold yourself together! Don’t let anyone see weakness or they’ll jump on it!_ She needed…she needed an outlet. She needed food or fighting or _something_ to dive into, she needed to get away—

He reached for her chin, and she stubbornly turned her face away. “Owari…”

Why was he still here?! Why wasn’t he going away?! Didn’t he know this was making it worse?!

Akane always tried to stuff bad things deep down where they wouldn’t bother her. Don’t think about them, don’t look at them, and she wouldn’t be affected. But when she watched that bullshit vid of Nanami’s pain…when Nidai had died in the Funhouse…she couldn’t stop herself.

“It’s okay, you know. You don’t have to hold back.”

And these, especially, were the memories she avoided most of all. She didn’t want to forget her beloved little siblings…but she didn’t want to think about their ends. So she didn’t. She didn’t talk about them to Nanami, she didn’t think about the past, she didn’t look at the pictures too long and ran the moment she felt that weakness swell. It was a fragile balancing act, remembering but not too deeply and she thought she’d gotten used to it. But all it had taken was Nidai being here—Tsumiki not letting her spar—taking away her usual escape routes…!

She’d cried more since she’d met these guys than in the rest of her life! It was…it was their faults! If she’d never met them, she wouldn’t be so weak as to keep crying. She never would have been brainwashed by Enoshima, she never would have despaired, she never would have come home one day with murder in her heart—

And her siblings—

Wouldn’t

Be

**DEAD.**

She tried to scream when she felt a hot streak slip from one eye, but it came out mangled. Mangled like Taro’s body when she was done—

“Owari?”

“Agh…I told you to SHUT UP!”

She swung around with a punch—and then with horror remembered what happened not moments ago. And that was just a careless swing of her arm! When he dodged, he’d retaliate to stop her, and if they really started to fight, then…!

Her fist connected solidly with his chest. A grunt of pain left Nidai. Akane’s head yanked up. His eyes were squeezed shut, but…not in pain. Rather, his face had a calm look on it.

“C-Coach?” _Why…why’d you let me hit you? Why…_

“…I know you think tears are weak, Akane,” Nidai said, and she started at the sound of her given name. “I know a strong woman like you wouldn’t want to be seen crying. But not facing such ‘weak’ emotions only hurts you in the long run. If you run from them, you only hurt yourself. Facing them, that’s true strength.

“So…don’t hold your tears back. Cry, scream, even hit me if it makes you feel better. And the whole time…I promise I won’t look. I promise…I won’t think of you as weak.”

 _L-Like it’s that easy!_ Crying…was pointless. Crying…wouldn’t change anything. She’d learned that when she was three and all her tears about her empty stomach did was make her dad yell at her. Crying wouldn’t erase the fact her siblings were _dead,_ it wouldn’t wash their blood from her hands, it wouldn’t let her go see them again and tell them just how _sorry_ she was—

The burning in her eyes intensified.

And finally, Akane let herself weep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Christmas is a time for family, so when better to release a chapter about Akane’s? :3 *gets pelted with rotten oranges* Okay, okay, I’m sorry for writing something depressing!
> 
> Akane’s another character who had a lot of potential, but got squandered in the plot. So I wanted to highlight her emotional repression + some of her times with her family.
> 
> See if you can find what reference I hid in this chapter~


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